


Twelve Days

by Venivincere



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cursing of the naughty word variety, Drunkenness, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-26
Updated: 2014-12-26
Packaged: 2018-03-03 17:03:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 43,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2858333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Venivincere/pseuds/Venivincere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nothing says "I love you" like a brand new loo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Jordangrant for Merry_Smutmas 2006. A thousand heartfelt thank-yous to my wonderful beta elves, Florahart, Painless_j, BethBethBeth, Ziasudra and Themostepotente! You've put a polish on Jordan's gift I couldn't have managed on my own. Jordan, I hope this humble offering makes you smile. Merry Smutmas!
> 
> Posted on January 4, 2007 to Skyehawke here: http://archive.skyehawke.com/story.php?no=14239

... _And the last story of the day: Dragon Pox! Dragon Pox is rampaging across the countryside says Gillian Braithwaite, head of contagious diseases at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. "We haven't seen so many cases since the Outbreak of '74. The ward is packed to the gills, so if you're expecting treatment you had better stock up on Glaberolia potion and treat it yourself. Be prepared for itch and fever. Dragon Pox can be serious if left untreated, especially in adults, and is quite contagious. People contracting the disease should isolate themselves as much as possible for three days after the start of treatment." Thank you, Gillian, and that's it for Wizarding Wireless News on this snowy Christmas day! We sincerely hope you're having a wonderful holiday. Up next, the Fireside Extravaganza will take you through to the eight o'clock hour. Stay tuned for a variety of_ your _holiday favourites! TURKEY PAN TOO ENCRUSTED TO CLEAN? LET MRS. SCOWER'S RESTORE THAT SHEEN! AVAILABLE EVERYWH--_  
  
" _Finite!_ " The wand clattered to the table. Snape let his head drop back into his hands, which did nothing good for his brand-new headache.  
  
He stared down and the little square of parchment, which had obviously been written upon with a Quick Quotes quill:  
  
 _Confess your guilt by noon tomorrow or you will be sorry!_  
  
The exclamation point had a smiley face for a dot. He didn't know whether his professed attacker were simply an idiot or were delivering a subtle, gleeful jab. He suspected both.  
  
He pushed back from the ruins of his lunch and cleared his dishes to the sink, leaving the nasty little note to smoulder on its own. He turned on the tap and put his hand under it, leaning against the counter while the pipes creaked and groaned and the water slowly warmed. When it was as hot as he could stand, he upended the bottle of soap and squeezed.  
  
" _Detergio_."  
  
The little dish brush rose out of the mouth of the ceramic frog next to the tap and set to scrubbing. Snape turned back to dispose of the remains of the note, only to find it had already been reduced to a little pile of ash. He banished it, and went through the door to his sitting room and sat at his desk.  
  
He resigned himself to being watchful, but that was all the concern he could muster for this particular threat. Snape recalled one enterprising gangster who promised to break every bone in both his hands, which caused him to cast  _Impervius_  on them three days running. Nothing came of that threat, either (for which he was more than a little relieved).  
  
Well, he might end up sorry indeed to be so cavalier, but experience had him reckoning that he would be sorrier still if he didn't give his accounts a few hours of uninterrupted attention.  
  
He turned to the leather-bound ledger before him and settled in to work until supper. Three of the last eight Christmases had seen him dining with Minerva and all his other former colleagues at Hogwarts, but this year, Christmas dinner was going to be a subdued affair consisting of bread-and-cheese and as much Sparkle Dark ale as he could consume and remain upright. He had no intention of visiting a school where half the population were down with Dragon Pox. He hadn't had it as a child, and even though he had no desire for children, the last thing he could afford was to lose three days of business whilst he recuperated.  
  
Not for the first time, he wondered if he should have bought the shop. He drew a piece of parchment from the stack in the cubby, inked his quill, and began to write.  _Twenty-five December, 2005. Dear Mr. Aldridge, you are in arrears to this shop for five knuts, two sickles for the purchase of hensbane on the twentieth of August. Produce payment immediately, or I shall be forced to come collect it myself. Sincerely, Severus Snape, Proprietor, The Apothecarium_.   
  
There were always a fair few who tried to elude payment, despite his war record and his widely-known temper. He took a new piece of parchment from the cubby.  _Dear Miss Bentley-Babbington..._.  
  
After threatening to make Marjorie's pimples permanent, release eels into Mr. Carstair's koi pond, remove Mr. Davies' remaining locks and in general, promising mayhem for all the rest of his delinquent debtors, Severus added up the numbers. Cash at the counter this month wasn't quite going to cover expenses. Previous experience said about a fifth of what he was dunning for would actually come in. Well, he would have enough to replenish stock and to eat on, but not much else: a victory, of sorts.  
  
He sighed. He put away his ledger, and retired to the kitchen to make Christmas tea.  
  
The previous owners of Slug & Jiggers had known how to make the most of creature comforts. Slug had passed away in his sleep during the war, and Jigger acted the game old bird, but it was clear that only the war effort had kept him going. When it was done and won, there hadn't been much left to distract him from his failing health or to cushion his broken heart. He'd sold the business to Snape half an hour after he showed him the books; Snape offered his small war settlement, Jigger sighed (but took it) and retired to a tiny little bed-sit in Ilfracombe adjacent to his daughter and son-in-law.  
  
Although the books showed a modest, steady profit, sometimes Severus thought that it was this kitchen that had tipped his hand in favour of buying. It was his favourite room in the house. Besides being big enough to serve two purposes (cooking on the left, brewing on the right) it was homey, and by far the warmest room, despite the long row of windows and the door to the kitchen garden in back. A bench with a faded cushion ran under the windows to the right of the door, and a wooden table so old it was practically petrified stood before it, with wide, padded chairs on the free sides.  
  
Severus spent hours here on Sunday afternoons when the shop was closed, either brewing or just sitting and reading. It was much brighter than the back room, sandwiched as it was between the shop and the kitchen with the only natural light coming through the fireplace, which was open to both the back room and the kitchen. It wasn't packed to the ceiling with rare and expensive stock and the remnants of Snape's library, and didn't smell acrid and faintly rotten like the shop, either, which was a pleasing relief to his sinuses.  
  
The day was almost done, and the sky was lowering; flurries swirled in the air as he sliced the rest of yesterday's loaf. He loaded the toaster oven, poked it with his wand, and set about slicing cheese. Removing a pint bottle of Sparkle Dark from the cupboard, he took his loaded plate to the table and sat down to a quiet Christmas supper.  
  
Except that it wasn't. The wind picked up outside, and the branches of the pear tree tapped a drunken tattoo on the window. The draft coming through the window frames upstairs set the bedroom doors rattling. The place creaked and groaned, and for the first time in his six years there, Snape felt lonely and not a little worn out. He thought again about the note, and like every time, wondered if this would be the time someone would actually carry out their threat. Several times a month these missives ended up by his lunch plate. There were fewer now than when he first opened his shop, to be sure, but each one rankled; each one drove in a little further the wedge between himself and the other heroes of the war. None of  _them_  got hate mail. None of  _them_  had to scrub the occasional graffiti from their door. None of  _them_  had to suffer nightly the nagging possibility of trouble and the continual wariness that each new threat perpetuated.  
  
He got rid of his plate and Summoned a fresh bottle of ale.  
  
His charges were cleared! He shouldn't have to suffer the hounding of insular fools who couldn't accept the ruling of their own court. But the world had never been fair to him, had it?  
  
He raised the bottle to his lips and drank long and deep.  
  
No, it hadn't. He had been cursed from birth with a father who hated him, and who had let him know it at every turn. He had been hounded at school by the pureblood sons of other houses, for having stood up for himself and for having been sorted into Slytherin. He had been courted and beguiled by a man six years his senior, and it had been the promise of those illicit trysts that had led him to serve Voldemort.  
  
He had been used at the discretion of others to do his Master's horrifying bidding. And when he had escaped, he had been manipulated into returning to a service he abhorred for the equally repugnant task of spying. And this, by the man he considered a friend. His best friend. A friend who had ordered Severus to kill him, who had  _begged_  Severus to kill him, and Severus  _still_  hated him for it and hated himself for doing it.  
  
He chucked the empty bottle in the bin. " _Accio_  ale." He drank down half, his stomach roiling, and the bile rose in his throat.  
  
Every authority figure he'd relied upon had considered their own agenda first, never his. It was their fault he was here today, proprietor of a shop whose customers returned less and less often, or refused to pay their accounts, simply because  _he_ owned it.   
  
He envied those who had escaped the war with their lives and their fortunes intact. During the war, the Ministry had blown up his house in Spinner's End, not yet knowing he was an ally. The Weasleys had seen the Burrow reduced to rubble, and they had been remunerated handsomely for that straining heap. Why had his respectable home been valued at a pittance, then? He lurched over to the cupboard where the ale was and shot the cap off a fresh pint bottle. He drank until his stomach burned. Each belch brought up the ale, still fresh and cool, to the back of his throat.  
  
The Weasleys' compensation wasn't the worst slap in the face, either, not by far. That was nothing compared to what the Ministry gave Potter.  _Potter_. The memory of him was enough to stir up a maelstrom of emotion. Snape envied him his good fortune, but at the same time Potter disgusted him for taking the money. They'd already given him the Order of Merlin (first class), the public acclaim and the little courtesies afforded him as The Boy Who Won. Why did they have to go and presented him with a disgustingly large settlement, too?  
  
What the Ministry called 'an attempt to compensate you for your troubled, heroic life,' Severus thought a shameful waste. The boy had been treated to the best education in Britain, all the while surrounded by friends, and he'd turned into one hell of a man, despite the influence of those ridiculous Muggles. At the age of eighteen, he had more self-confidence than many twice his years. He was a good fighter, and good cover. In the last battle they had fought together with an ease that made it look like they could read each other's minds. None of those qualities required compensation. They  _were_  compensation.  
  
If anyone had lived a troubled, heroic life it was Snape, himself. He had lost his first lover, his best friend, his job, his home, his peace.   
  
The inequity appalled him. It humiliated him.  
  
He hurled the empty bottle into the can where it crashed and tinkled to bits, and opened a fresh one.


	2. Chapter 2

WELCOME BACK, HARRY!  
  
The banner flashed in rainbow neon where it hung over the Weasley's front door. Before he could knock, a flash of red barrelled out of it and attached itself to his leg, and in short order he found himself surrounded by Weasleys all talking at once and trying to get in a good thump or hug.  
  
"Hey, mate! Welcome home!" Ron stepped up and clapped his back, but hastily withdrew to avoid the little fist banging on his leg.  
  
"Off, dad, he's mine!"  
  
"Come in! Come in!" cried Mrs. Weasley, with a quick up and down at Harry's light cotton shirt and jeans. "Crispin, you are not a limpet, please remove yourself from Harry's leg. And quit thumping your father. Harry, would you like some tea? You must be freezing!"  
  
"Yes -- please," said Harry, shivering. He swung his occupied leg over the threshold.  
  
"Uncle Harry! I've grown two whole inches and a smidge since last time," said Crispin.  
  
"Oh, you have?" Harry smiled. "You look exactly the same to me."  
  
"I do not!"  
  
"Well, you had better show me, then," said Harry. Crispin scrambled up off of his leg.  
  
Harry put an arm around the young lady next to him and planted a kiss on the top of her head. "And what about you, Jane?"  
  
"One-and-a-quarter," she admitted, "but I only know because Crispin insisted I measure."  
  
"Well, I'm glad he did," said Harry. "Now I know just how much more of you to treasure."  
  
"Uncle  _Harry_!" She rolled her eyes.   
  
"Here's your tea, Harry, dear," said Mrs. Weasley.  
  
Harry balanced his tea and stooped before the doorjamb. It was a miracle that piece of wood had remained whole when the old house had collapsed, and another miracle that it had been found. It was inscribed with the growth of three generations of Weasleys; it made the new house home. He peered at the line with Crispin's finger on it and read the tiny words next to it: Crispin, age 5 1/2, 47" and a smidge, Christmas 2005.  
  
"Hmmm. It seems I was wrong. You  _have_  grown!" He turned to Ron. "Where's Hermione?"  
  
"She's upstairs napping with Edward. He was up most of the night."  
  
"Still not sleeping through, then?"  
  
"Not at all. It's a shock after those two," said Ron, pointing to Crispin and Jane. He yawned. "Harry, it's great to see you. Why didn't you come for your birthday this year?"  
  
"I couldn't," said Harry. "We were working sixteen-hour days, at that point.  
  
"Yeah, well we had a brilliant cake without you," said Ron. "Chocolate inside and out, with little golden snitch sprinkles hovering over the frosting..."  
  
He came to and looked at Harry. "Hermione's got your presents put up at the house. Remind me later to bring them to you."  
  
"About that..."  
  
"Harry!" Ron was instantly upset. "Don't tell me you aren't staying this time! You said --"  
  
"Whoa, Ron!" said Harry, thinking Ron could use a kip himself, "I  _am_  staying. It's just that I don't have a place  _to_  stay, yet."  
  
Ron heaved a tired sigh of relief.  
  
"I meant to get in yesterday and look for flats, but we hadn't finished with the last house, yet, and I didn't want to leave with the floor half laid."  
  
"Uncle Harry has Christmas presents, too, dad," said Jane.  
  
"Presents!" That reminded him he had some of his own to distribute.  
  
"Why don't you --" said Ron to the kids, but they tore off to the tree, "oh, you're ahead of the game." He turned back to Harry. "You know, we wanted them to wait until you got here, but the little buggers got up at the crack of dawn and beat us downstairs."  
  
"That's okay, Ron. It's Christmas! They shouldn't have to wait," said Harry. He stopped smiling. "You should never wait to open a gift."  
  
Before Ron could even respond to that, the kids deposited a small armload of present apiece in front of him. "Here you are!"  
  
"Open me and Jane's first!"  
  
" _Jane's_  and  _mine_ ," said Jane.  
  
"I just said that!"  
  
"Point it out, then," said Harry.  
  
"This one!"  
  
Harry took one look at the wrapping and decided that they must have worked very hard to make the paper, which had little white unicorns prancing all over it with wreathes hanging from their horns. "Did your dad animate this for you?"  
  
"No, I did!" said Jane. "Mummy showed me how, and let me use her wand."  
  
"Very nice spell work!" Harry really was impressed, and was secretly rather pleased that Hermione had bent the rules and let her do it. "You'll be quite advanced when you get to Hogwarts, if you keep on like this." He carefully untied the ribbon and started to fold back the paper.  
  
"It's a book of broom spells for your new broom!" Crispin burst out.  
  
"Let him see for himself, silly!" said Jane.  
  
"Do you like it? Do you like it?" Crispin asked.  
  
Harry looked at the book and genuinely smiled -- he'd wanted a book like this for quite some time, but never seemed to have a chance to look for one.  _Charm Your Way into Heaven: One Thousand and One Spells to Get You and Your Broom into the Sky and Keep You There_.   
  
"It's brilliant! I'm sure I'll use loads of these on the Mercury," he said. "Thank you both, very much! This is really thoughtful."  
  
"They picked it out themselves, too, mate," said Ron. "Hermione took 'em shopping and I stayed home with King Edward," Ron yawned again. "Managed a kip then...." he looked wistful.  
  
"You did bring your broom back with you, didn't you?" Crispin asked.  
  
"Of course I did," said Harry. "I always bring it with me, wherever I go."  
  
"Can we see it?" asked Jane.  
  
"Yeah, Harry, I'd like to see it, too!" said Ron.  
  
Crispin didn't say anything; he just ran around the table and stood next to Harry.  
  
"Okay, then. I warn you, it looks quite a bit different from the last time you saw it." Harry reached into his pocket and drew out a small, black case that looked like it contained a pocket quill.  
  
He turned his chair around and set the case on the floor in front of him. "Stand back, Crispin.  _Engorgio!_ " The box quickly grew to about ten feet long. He opened it up and there lay everything he used to work on the broom, carefully spelled in place around the padded mount in the middle. He pulled out the broom.  
  
The Mercury was his own creation. He'd been working on it for almost a year and a half, ever since he'd left David. Inventing a new broom had turned out to be a brilliant way to keep his mind off of his failed relationship; he loved working on it, and even on those days when the construction efforts most tired him out, he still managed to put in a little work on it.  
  
The Mercury was a curved-shaft broom. It had a glossy, midnight-black finish, with an elegant gold filigree M with wings worked into the handle on both sides. The shaft and all the twigs Harry had taken from a variety of wand-wood trees, even though the bowtruckles had tried their best to make lunch out of his hands. Charlie had owled him dragon scales for twig spacers, and Hagrid had combed the Forbidden Forest for strands of unicorn tail hair to bind the head to the shaft. While he was in India, Harry had commissioned a wizarding brass worker to create an unbreakable, non-dulling kick step.  
  
Unlike the way most brooms were made, Harry had not used any kind of magic to shape the shaft or the twigs. He had spent the first half-year seasoning a holly log and then carving the shaft out of it. By last Christmas, it was completely formed, but the filigree hadn't been laid or the finish put on, and nothing had been attached to it, yet.  
  
" _Whoa!_ " Crispin gaped at the broom, in awe.  
  
Jane's eyes shone. "It's lovely!"  
  
"It almost looks ready to fly!" Ron looked hungry to try it out, too. He came around the table. "Can I hold it?"  
  
"Oh, me, too! Me, too!"  
  
Harry handed the broom to Crispin.  
  
"Hey! No fair!"  
  
"He was here first, Ron."  
  
"It's so heavy!"  
  
"That's because it hasn't been charmed yet. Which I can do, now that I have this book!" He held the book up for a moment before sliding it into the case on top of  _Architectural Magic_.   
  
"Here, Dad," Crispin handed off the broom. "Uncle Harry, you have to finish opening your presents."  
  
"I certainly do! And I believe I have something here for all of you, as well." He detached a small pile of presents tucked in the corner of the broom case and handed them out, then turned back around to his own presents and set to with a will.  
  
\---------------------------   
  
"Thanks, Molly," said Harry. "I haven't eaten anything this good since last Christmas."  
  
"You're always welcome, dear."  
  
"Yeah, Mum, it was lovely," said Ron. "I'd have never thought to barbeque a turkey, but it turned out great!  
  
"You can thank your brother Charlie for the idea," said Molly. "He took an award for open-flame cooking at the Reserve this summer!"  
  
Charlie leaned over and whispered in Harry's ear "only because we've got lots of open flame lying about."  
  
Harry choked back a laugh.  
  
"So, what are we doing for afters?"  
  
"Well," said Molly, "I was thinking we could gather around the Christmas tree with tea and pie, and listen to the Fireside Extravaganza on the wireless."  
  
Silence fell, and Harry looked around to see everyone else looking about as uncomfortable as he felt.  
  
"Erm. Well, Mum..."  
  
"I guess..."  
  
"That sounds perfectly lovely, Molly!" said Arthur, and that was that. Everyone got up from the table and waved their plates and cups into the sink, and Molly floated tea and desert to the low table in front of the couch. She settled down before it in the middle of the couch, pointed her wand at the wireless, and began to pour out.  
  
" _OWER'S RESTORE THAT SHEEN! AVAILABLE EVERYWHERE BETTER CLEANING PRODUCTS ARE SOLD! Thank you, Mrs. Skower's. And now, back to the Fireside Extravaganza, with Celestina Warbeck singing "Dress Your Wand in Holly."_  
  
"Oh, I love this one!" said Molly, "But I do wish they wouldn't run advertisements at Christmas."  
  
"Profit stops for no holiday, Mum," said George.  
  
"Oh? So why did you close your shop today, then?"  
  
"Because, Gin, nobody  _shops_  on Christmas day," said Fred. "The only place on the Alley open this evening is the Cauldron."  
  
"Hey," said George. "Weren't we -- ow!" he rubbed his arm where Fred had elbowed him.  
  
"Ssh!"  
  
"Oh! Er... sorry, Mum."  
  
" _First, dress your wand in holly,  
Then tie ivy on it fast,  
And you will have a merry Yule  
With every spell you caaast...  
  
Give me just one sickle, Mum,  
I won't get all perplexed  
I'll buy the shiny, deep green leaves,  
To crown your wand, and next  
  
I'll fetch right home a creeping vine,  
An ivy good and strong,  
To tie fast all those pointy leaves,  
Then sing to you this song:  
  
First, dress your wand in holly,  
Then tie ivy on it fast,  
And you will have a merry Yule  
With every spell you cast!  
Yes, you will have a merry Yuuuuuuuule...  
With eeeeveryyyyyy speeeeeell yoooooouuu caaaaaaaaaasst!_"  
  
The voices fell off one by one as a harp flourished up the scale.  
  
"Oh, that one always makes me cry!"  
  
"There, there, Mum."  
  
By the time several songs had passed, Harry had descended into fidgeting with his empty plate and cup. No one, with the exception of Molly, looked as though they were enjoying themselves. But Harry was just as dismayed as relieved when Bill said, "Okay, we're off to...um...we're going carolling."  
  
Everyone moved en masse to the kitchen with their plates and cups.  
  
"Bye."  
  
"Wait...we want to go!" said the kids.  
  
"We're going  _carolling?_  I thought we were going to the --"  
  
"Shush!"  
  
"Well, have a nice time," said Hermione, fuming.  
  
"What?" said Ron, "you aren't you coming?"  
  
"Not unless you're staying home with Edward, I'm not."  
  
"Well, if all of you are leaving anyway," said Molly, "there's no sense in leaving Hermione behind."  
  
"But --"  
  
"I'll keep an ear out for him," said Molly. She lifted her wand, and an ear shot out of it and zipped up the stairs. "You both could do with a bit of fresh air, Ron. Carolling's just the thing. Oh! And we have books!" She rushed off to get them.  
  
"Damn, there goes the pub."  
  
"Fred!"  
  
"Let's just go to Diagon Alley, shall we?" said Bill, taking the stack of carolling books. "There are lots of lamps, and if we start at Fortescue's we can work our way back to the  _Cauldron_ " he gave everyone a glare, "and have hot chocolate diablos and, erm, mulled cider when we're through."  
  
"Spiffing!"  
  
"Are we ready then?" Arthur opened the door and ushered them all out into the silent and empty garden. "See you at Fortescue's!"  
  
\---------------------------   
  
Despite his trepidation and lack of ability, Harry found he quite enjoyed carolling. He hadn't spent any appreciable length of time out of doors in the winter in several years, and had forgotten how much the crisp, cold air both invigorated and relaxed him at once.  
  
It had snowed overnight, and each street lamp rested in a pool of multicoloured sparkles. The shops below were all dark, but every window shone with light in the apartments above, and when they walked to the next set of windows, Harry felt as though he were flowing along the bottom of a river of light.  
  
Each stop, they would pick a new carol, one they hadn't tried before. The windows in the apartment above them would open wide, and whole families would lean out and listen. No one seemed to mind too much that they were a bit off-key and forgot some of the words. They sang along, or threw down apples and oranges, or yelled out "Happy Christmas!" and when they finished one or two songs, they moved on to the next set of windows.  
  
Really, it was rather magical.  
  
They had reached the last building before the Leaky Cauldron only to find it was the first apartment on the block where the light was dim and distant in the upper windows. The small, plain sign above the door said "Apothecarium," but Harry remembered the shop as Slug & Jiggers, and wondered when the store had changed hands. The light from the nearest lamp filtered up to the windows above with just enough light for Harry to make out a rather faded and dusty sign that said "Room for let. Enquire within."  
  
"Well, it doesn't look like anyone's in, does it?" said George, after the briefest of pauses.  
  
"Yeah, let's push along to the Cauldron, now, shall we?" said Fred, irritated.  
  
But they'd sung for every other window, and Harry had a strange desire to see all of them sung to. "Let's do just one here, even if no one turns up to enjoy it," Harry said, basely appealing to Crispin and Jane because if they agreed, who would refuse them?  
  
"Yes, lets! Please, Uncle George? Please?" begged Crispin.  
  
"Um, Harry, this is Snape's place," said Fred. "You don't really want..."  
  
Harry was quite surprised; so  _this_  was where he'd got to after the war! He was seized with a perverse desire to sing Snape a carol, just to see what he'd do.  
  
"We've got one carol left in the book we haven't done yet," said Jane, who either wasn't daunted by the prospect of Snape or didn't know anything about him. "Let's do it, and then we can tell Grandmum we've sung them all."  
  
"Since the kids want it, I suppose one last one won't hurt," said Arthur, resigned.  
  
"It's page 13, 'Twelve Days,'" said Jane. "Mum, will you start us?"  
  
"Well -- okay." Hermione held up her wand, which emitted a rather half-hearted F-sharp and sketched the beat.  
  
Harry quickly found the page.  
  
  
" _I placed twelve blossoms in a bowl  
And set them all afloat  
Twelve chestnuts did I cross and roast  
And tuck in twelve love-notes.  
  
I baked twelve tarts and twelve small cakes,  
And served you them still warm;  
I cast you twelve protection charms  
To keep you safe from harm.  
  
I spoke twelve oaths to Merlin,  
I promised him my wand,  
If I could hold your loving heart  
And form with you a bond.  
  
I'll court you all through Christmas,  
Twelve days to win your heart,  
Twelve gifts and spells to symbolise  
A frank, auspicious start.  
  
I hold twelve houses in my heart.  
Inside each lies your throne.  
Each day in me is Christmas day,  
Each house, our family home._  
  
  
"WHO THE BLOODY FUCK'S MAKIN' ALL THIS NOISE?"  
  
Jane shrieked. Harry startled so badly he dropped his book. The picture that met his eyes, when he looked up where the shouting was, matched his memory of the voice. Sort of. Snape swayed out of the upstairs window, and for a moment Harry thought he was going to tumble out, but Snape's stomach hit the sill with an "Ungh!"  
  
"Wea-  _Weasleys!_  I shou've known  _you'_  be bloody carlow -- car -- singin'."   
  
Harry had an intense desire to laugh, but refrained from doing so in front of the children. Everyone stared up at Snape, agape.   
  
Arthur broke out of it first. "Severus, language!"  
  
"'S wrong 'th it?" he blinked. "'S nothin' worse 'n you tau-hic!-tauntin' me 'bout bloody fu-hic!- fuckin' fam'ly homes!"  
  
Harry whipped out his wand the moment he saw Snape go for his. Out of the corners of his eyes, he saw the others drawing theirs. Snape's wavered in front of them, unsteady, with red sparks spurting and dribbling out of the tip.  
  
"You fuckin' got pay-hic!- paid f'yours! Fuckin' builtchew a new'un! Y'r swimining in Gall'ns. I-hic!- I'm g'n hex you f'rubbin' it in m'face," he waved his wand at Arthur. "Bas'ard. Swim 'n this!  _A_ -hic!- _aquaria!_ "  
  
" _Protego!_ " They got the shield up just before the water reached them, not that the weak little spurt would have done much damage.  
  
"Aah," said Snape, "Y'r all wet."  
  
Harry glared up at Snape who was now slumped over the windowsill, chin in hand.  
  
"Uh, Hermione, maybe the kids shouldn't..." said Ron, as Snape braced his way upright again.  
  
"You're right, they shouldn't," she said, her mouth pinched. She wrapped an arm around each of them and Apparated out.  
  
Harry hadn't taken his eyes off Snape, who was more than standing upright again, he was attempting to climb the window sill. "Fuckin' war heroes, arenchew! Gotcher reward f'r it, dinchew!" All eyes moved back to Snape, horrified and fascinated at once. He slipped down the wall and tried again to climb it.  
  
"Merlin, what an idiot!" said Harry. "He's going to hurt himself if he keeps on." But Snape was just so awful, Harry couldn't take his eyes off him. He was glad he never encountered Snape like this during the war; likely, he would have hexed him.  
  
"Think you can do anything 'n it's all good." One leg was over the sill. "Fuckin' rubbin' my nose 'n it a' Christmas, too. Shelfis -- selfish bas'ards, the lot o' you." The other leg was over, and he was sitting on the sill quite unsteadily, braced with his off hand. He raised his wand, which was belching a froth of sparks in all directions.  
  
" _P'cunia Levio-_ hic _-sa!_ "  
  
"What?! Here, come back!" said Arthur, reaching into the air for the Galleons, Sickles and Knuts that flew out of his pocket. He waved his wand. " _Accio_  my money!" The cash swung back around in the air, and Arthur almost had it until Snape made a tugging-up motion with his wand and it sailed up high, again. And then it was whizzing all over the place; Harry looked back at the window just in time to see Snape fall back into it until nothing showed but his lower legs and a hand on the window casing.  
  
" _Finite Incantatem,_ " cast Harry, and the coins fell into the street around them. Arthur Summoned and pocketed them.  
  
"F-foiled!" said Snape, pulling himself up on the window casing. He waved his wand, ready to cast again, but it flew out of his hand into the street. "Sod this f'r a lark." He wobbled on the windowsill for a moment, then his eyes got wide. "Uh oh." He spread his legs and lowered his head, and Harry watched as Snape launched the contents of his stomach onto the street below.  
  
"Ahh, disgusting!" said Fred. "Snape, I'm reporting you to the Wizarding Business Association for that!"  
  
"I doubt the WBA are going to do much to him, though," said George, "except fine him."  
  
"Let's petition for a really large one!"  
  
"There's a plan."  
  
Snape launched another salvo, and began to look rather green.  
  
Harry winced. He had an idea what had got up Snape's arse, but even drunk, it was still no excuse.  
  
Snape finished tossing up, raised his head, and seemed to notice Harry for the first time. His eyes went suddenly wide, and he pointed, agape, directly at Harry.  
  
"YOU! A'course y'r here, too!" Snape raised his wand arm to point, but his poor, abused balance had had enough.  
  
He fell face-first out of the window.  
  
" _Wingardium leviosa!_ " Harry cast the spell and lowered Snape to a clean patch of ground before he quite realised what he'd done.  
  
They all quickly gathered around Snape, but it was clear he was out cold.  
  
Ron looked at Harry. "I don't think I've ever seen anyone that drunk," he said. "Not even Seamus."  
  
Which was saying something; Seamus held the Gryffindor record for Most Shots Consumed.  
  
"Me either," said Arthur. "Though, I think I know what's bothering him, and he's got every right to be angry about it."  
  
"Angry or not, he's was a complete arse to you," said Harry, "and he would have been to me, too, if he'd managed to stay propped up for it."  
  
"Likely. I don't think I've ever seen Snape so pathetic," said Arthur. "But that doesn't excuse his behaviour in front of the family." said Arthur.  
  
"What are you going to do, dad?" asked Ron.  
  
"Send him a Howler, of course."  
  
"If you send it tomorrow  _early_ ," said Ron, "he'll likely, erm,  _appreciate_  it more."  
  
Arthur winced.  
  
"Ron!" said Harry, laughing. "Actually I'd like to see that, though," he said, when he stopped. "Maybe I'll pay him a visit tomorrow. I've always wanted to tell him off for bad behaviour; now's my chance." He nudged Snape's shoulder with his foot. "You hear that, you great git? I don't care how many times you saved me during the war, I'm going to make sure you know  _exactly_  how I feel about you!"


	3. Chapter 3

Dear, sweet  _Merlin_ , that must have been one powerful hex.  
  
The trouble was, Severus had no recollection of who cast it, or why, though he'd probably find out more as soon as he could open his eyes.  
  
Where was he, anyway? He was lying on something smooth and hard, and there was an icy draft running over him. Either he was somewhere in the dark or it was still night out; there wasn't much in the way of light filtering through his eyelids. He had one panicked, sinking moment thinking the war must still be on, but no, he remembered the end, and the trial, and the never-ending ceremonies, the inequities -- bugger.  
  
Bugger, bugger,  _bugger_.  
  
He wasn't hexed, he was hung over. His eyes popped open.  
  
Well, at least he'd got drunk at home, though Merlin knew why he ended up huddled on the floor of the spare room in the upstairs front. His wand lay on the floor in front of him; he grabbed it. He staggered up off the floor and stumbled down the stairs to the loo. The state of his breath had him hoping he'd made it here last night before he'd sicked up. The room canted dangerously to the left; he took the cautious road and sat down to take care of business.  
  
A short, blank time later, he remembered the hangover potion in the cupboard and took a great gulp of it straight from the flask. His wits intact, he finished washing up and came out into the kitchen to start a very weak and watery tea with absolutely nothing else to it, thank you very much.  
  
His memory of the previous evening cut off right here at this table. He remembered supper (the thought of bread and cheese momentarily threatened to undo the soothing effects of the tea and the potion) and he remembered about three pints of the Sparkle Dark going down. Or was it four? Well, there was one way to tell. Sparkle Dark came in cases of twelve.  
  
" _Alohomora_."  
  
The cupboard door swung open, one, two, three, four, and -- four. Well no, that couldn't be right. He rose out of his chair to count the rest of them, but there really  _were_  only four of them left.  
  
No wonder he thought he'd been hexed.  
  
Well, at least he'd inflicted it on himself at Christmas; there was no chance anyone had been about to witness it, thank Merlin for small favours.  
  
Having drunk about as much weak tea as he could stand, he stepped into his shop and saw to the opening of it. He lit the lamps and took down all the wards on the door. The broom swept out from behind it and he just had time to open the door and let it out before it began vigorously dusting yesterday's snow off the stoop. Severus stood in the doorway and took in the new day. The air burned crisply with the cold, and the first streaks of light stretched up into the sky. He looked into the street and was vaguely disgusted to see some reveller had left their excess merry-making right in front of his shop. He banished it, and then blew a little of the surrounding snow onto the empty cobblestones. Perfect.  
  
The broom had finished and was waiting patiently by the door to be let back in when he noticed an owl winging toward him. He opened the door and let all three of them in, and immediately regretted it.  
  
The envelope was red. The bird hooted, waiting for a treat.  
  
"You brought me a Howler! I'm not feeding you!" He shooed the bird out and shut the door, then opened the Howler immediately; best to get it over with quickly.  
  
 _SEVERUS SNAPE!  
  
WE'VE KNOWN EACH OTHER FOR NIGH ON 25 YEARS, AND I HAVE NEVER IN ALL THAT TIME BEEN SO DISAPPOINTED AND DISGUSTED WITH YOU! YOU HAVE SUNK TO ABYSMAL NEW LOWS, AND I AM THIS CLOSE TO LODGING A COMPLAINT AGAINST YOU! HOW DARE YOU BEHAVE TO ME LIKE THAT IN FRONT OF MY FAMILY? MY GRANDCHILDREN WERE THERE!  
  
I DON'T CARE HOW SHABBILY THE MINISTRY TREATED YOU, YOU HAVE ABSOLUTELY NO EXCUSE!  
  
I EXPECT A PERSONAL APOLOGY TO ME AND MY FAMILY BY THIS EVENING, AND IF YOU ARE IN THE LEAST INSINCERE, YOU'LL BE ANSWERING TO A CHARGE OF PUBLIC DRUNKENNESS BY NOON TOMORROW!  
  
IRATELY YOURS,  
ARTHUR WEASLEY_  
  
  
Dear, sweet Merlin. What had he done?  
  
He combed his memories of the evening before yet again. He remembered the ale... and singing? He didn't think he himself had been singing; he didn't engage in that sort of activity. Ever. Who could have been singing, then?  
  
Likely it was the revellers, one of whom must have sicked up in the street in front of his shop. He really ought to complain to the WBA about that. There was no reason the Cauldron shouldn't be made to have more discretion in serving its customers, especially on a holiday.  
  
It was no use. He couldn't think of anything he might have done last night, unless whatever it was explained why he'd ended up on the floor of the spare bedroom. Or -- bugger. His stomach gave a nasty lurch. He hadn't sicked up out of his own window, had he, then passed out on the floor? Merlin! It could have happened -- the washroom was quite clean this morning, and he was certain he was in no state last night to cast a proper cleaning charm.  
  
Well -- whatever he did, it looked as though he was going to spend his evening being penitent. What could he have done? He couldn't remember having seen any of them, aside from the twins, for several months. He rather liked Arthur, despite his jealousy of the man (which, apparently, he hadn't buried deep enough). Arthur was a crack wand in a fight, and never lost his wits.  
  
Nevertheless, he couldn't think what he might have said or done, and he was appalled to think he might have done it in front of Weasley's grandchildren. He recalled they were still quite young.   
  
What a cock-up.  
  
Grabbing a quill and parchment from the back room, he sat down at the counter to write a sincere, obsequious apology. He would deliver it in person after supper, so he would have all day to polish it.  
  
 _Dear Mr. Weasley and Family,  
  
It is with great shame that I admit I have harboured jealousy toward you due to the inequities of our compensation after the war. However, threatening you was unreservedly inexcusable, and doing so in front of your grandchildren, utterly disgraceful. Had I been anywhere near my right mind, this would never have happened.  
  
I am horrified by my reprehensible behaviour yesterday, and I offer you my deepest, most sincere apologies.  
  
Your servant,  
Severus Snape_  
  
He blew on the glossy lines of ink while he re-read the letter, pronounced it the best he could do for the moment, then ducked into the kitchen to make tea.  
  
Of course, the bell over the shop door tinkled just as he set the teapot on the kitchen table.  
  
"SNAPE!"  
  
Dear, sweet Merlin, it couldn't be.  
  
" _SNAPE!_ "  
  
Wasn't that brat somewhere on the subcontinent?  
  
Fate was determined to make him pay and pay for the error of his ways. He stepped out from behind the beaded curtain into the shop.  
  
"There you are!" said Potter, in a hearty voice.  
  
No -- not the subcontinent. Apparently, Potter was back in England.  
  
"Look, have you gone 'round the twist, or something?" said Potter, obviously quite irritated. "What did you think you were doing last night?"  
  
And in contact with the Weasleys.  
  
"And in front of the kids, too!" Potter was getting louder. "It shouldn't shock me, after putting up with your temper while I was in school, but at least you had Voldemort for an excuse. What's got into you?"  
  
"How nice to see you, too, Mr. Potter. Would you like to join me for tea?" asked Snape. He would  _not_  let Potter rile him up. He opened the counter door and ushered in the angry young man. Best to get him back to the kitchen; the customers were scared enough just coming in the door, not that he'd had any yet, today.  
  
"You were a bit of a bastard last night," said Potter. "You'd have been more of one if you hadn't -- oh, thanks," Snape handed him a small plate of biscuits, "hadn't been so completely pathetic. You know damned well the Weasleys lost quite a bit in the war!"  
  
"I see you haven't changed, either, Mr. Potter," Snape gestured him to the bench behind the table and sat down in his regular chair. "You still jump to conclusions before you are in possession of all the facts. I'm well aware they've suffered losses. Grave ones. Charlie lost his wife, did he not?"  
  
"Yeah," said Potter, obviously still hot. He slid onto the bench. "Emmanuella was pregnant. Bet you didn't know  _that_." He picked up a biscuit and ate half of it in one bite.  
  
"I didn't." Snape took a sip of his tea. He had better revisit his apology letter in light of it. "I'm sorry."  
  
"Bit late for that, isn't it?"  
  
"No, simply directed at the wrong person." Snape sighed. "I shall be delivering my apology to the Weasleys this evening, in person." Snape looked Potter in the eye, "If it's likely to keep you out of trouble, you're welcome to join us."  
  
"I'll be there." Potter was obviously still angry, but he gave Snape a long, odd look.  
  
"Is something wrong?"  
  
"I was just going to ask you the same thing."  
  
Idiot boy. "If it hasn't escaped your notice, I  _am_  working through a rather dismal hangover."  
  
"What, no potion?"  
  
"Only the strongest I had."  
  
"I guess it would have had to be," said Potter. "I've never seen you as pissed as you were yesterday, not even after the Border Battle."  
  
Dear, sweet Merlin. He'd got himself completely sozzed after the Border Battle, in an attempt to stay that way permanently. It hadn't helped to get the image of Lucius' death out of his head.  
  
"I assume you were there last night?"  
  
"You don't remember?" Potter frowned. "Of course, you wouldn't."  
  
"I... don't," said Snape. "I don't suppose you'd..."  
  
"Not likely," said Potter, crumbling the last biscuit to dust.  
  
"I should like to give them a proper apology..."  
  
"Fine," Potter huffed. You called Arthur a fucking bastard, tried to douse him like a flame and steal his money, and then you tossed up," said Harry looked disgusted. "You were sitting in the window when you did it, and when you looked up, you saw me. You were on your way to giving me even more than you gave Arthur, if you hadn't sparked out and fallen from the window."  
  
Snape's face felt funny, and it took him a moment to realise he must be blushing -- something he didn't think he'd done in years. "Potter, I owe you an apology--"  
  
"I levitated you back through the window you fell out of, and shut it up as tight as I could."  
  
"And a thank you, too, it seems," Snape added.  
  
"Save it. I think I know what it was that got your wand in a knot, and frankly, I don't blame you for being angry about it," said Harry.  
  
"I don't --" began Snape, "I don't let the envy get to me, Potter. Not when I'm sober. Merlin, I  _know_  that the Ministry's behaviour isn't their fault. Or yours."  
  
"No, it wasn't," said Harry. "Was that the door?"  
  
He heard a faint jingling and wondered why the kitchen amplification charm hadn't worked. Maybe someone had tried the door but decided against entering. Which was just as well; he was feeling rather more stupid and out of control than he'd done since he was young. He'd played the fool so many times with Potter's father, letting himself be drawn into Potter and his friends' schemes, and here he landed himself in just as vulnerable a position with Potter's son. It left a bad taste in his mouth to feel just comfortable enough that this Potter's integrity would prevent him from taking advantage.  
  
"I don't think anyone came in," said Snape. "Look, Potter, I really do apologise. I'm embarrassed to have you know my true feelings on the matter, especially in such an -- undignified -- way."  
  
"What?!"  
  
"I said --" began Snape.  
  
"No, no, I heard what you said. I'm just shocked to hear it," said Harry. "I can't remember any time when you apologised to me. Ever." Harry looked at him as though he must have something wrong with him. Or was that just plain disbelief?  
  
Ah well. He had better admit his humiliation outright, and gamble that Potter would let it pass. "Well, I am doing it now. I am quite ashamed of my behaviour last night. I don't think I've done anything as stupid since I was in school."  
  
"Huh." Harry stared at him for quite some time, his expression unreadable. "You know, I came here today to tell you off. Finally."  
  
Snape rolled his eyes. "Give me credit for having figured that out."  
  
"You've lost a lot of your piss and vinegar. I expected us to come out of this confrontation rather raw, not deflated and well fed." Harry picked up another biscuit. "These are really good."  
  
Snape never got a chance to reply. The lights went out, and the heat leeched out of the room.  
  
Oh  _bugger_. Yesterday's threat. He drew his wand.  
  
"Snape, I think you've got a Dementor in here!"  
  
"I don't think so. I'm not feeling any more dreadful than normal."  
  
"Neither am I, come to think of it. And it doesn't feel dark."  
  
"No, it doesn't, and it's very effective," said Snape, rubbing the chill out of his arms. "There aren't that many charms or spells out there that produce this effect. Enumerate."  
  
As Harry listed possible spells, Snape became aware that it was just like riding a broom, slipping back into the wartime ways of communication. Once you had the knack, it fell into place whenever needed. When Potter was done listing spells, Snape said, "Follow me." He rose up from his chair, and saw that Potter had his wand in his hand, too.  
  
"What's going on?" Potter whispered, slipping off the bench and following close -- something else that had happened often near the end of the war. Potter's presence was oddly comforting.  
  
"Someone sent a note yesterday. 'Confess or suffer the consequences.'"  
  
"Confess  _what?_ "  
  
Snape rounded on him in the kitchen doorway so quickly that he and Potter bumped chests. "All my Death Eater sins, obviously," spat Snape. He breathed a frozen cloud into Harry's face and hastily backed up a step, angry. "I get threats like this all the time!" he whispered.  
  
"What?!" Potter whispered back, teeth chattering. "How come I never heard anything about this? There was nothing in  _The Prophet_.... How often have you been attacked? Has the Ministry taken action?"  
  
"No one's actually carried any of them out before," said Snape, "not counting the occasional broken windows and graffiti. You can't possibly think I'd go to the Ministry with this. Do use your head, Potter. I haven't told anyone." He turned and moved silently despite the shivers, taking care not to slip on the coating of frost that had formed on the floor. Potter followed right behind.  
  
Snape looked out through the hanging beads. A shimmering, red hot ball converged on itself in mid air near the front of the store. "Dear, sweet Merlin," he gasped, and yanked Potter into a crouch behind the wall. "It's a heat concentration charm!" He stuck his fingers in his ears and Harry followed suit, just in time.  
  
 _BOOM!_  
  
The explosion rocked the Apothecarium on its foundations and knocked Potter off his heels into Snape's lap. He heard the tinkle of glass falling out of the shop windows. Plaster and dust showered down upon them, and the heat abruptly returned. Snape shook his hair and spit debris out of his mouth.  
  
"Didn't anyone teach you that spitting on someone isn't polite?" grumbled Potter, combing his fingers through his hair and struggling to get up. He lost his footing on the melting frost and plunked right back down where he had been.  
  
"Ungh. Potter, do get up before you break any more of my bones."  
  
"Sorry about that."  
  
Snape was almost sorry, too, when Potter managed to get himself upright. He was nice and warm, and Severus was still chilled through.  
  
"We'd better take a look around while the magical signature's still about," said Harry. He leaned unsteadily against the wall for a moment before parting the beads. "They can't have hung around." He looked back over his shoulder at Snape, who was just struggling to his feet.  
  
Snape agreed, though he didn't think they'd find anything to go on. Much experience from the war told him that the people who did these sorts of things never used traceable wands.  
  
"Oh," he stood, and was momentarily overcome by a wave of dizziness. He took a moment, then followed Potter into the shop.  
  
Dear, sweet Merlin.  
  
The whole front corner of the shop had been scoured down to the plaster. Not one piece of shelving remained, and every bit of stock he had there was gone. The end of the aisles near the door were burnt and still smoking, most of the merchandise blown up or off.   
  
Snape shook with anger.  
  
"I'm calling the Aurors," said Potter.  
  
Snape made no move to stop him. A silver stag leapt out of the young man's wand, and when it left through the glassless windows, Snape noticed a crowd of people hovering across the street.  
  
"Snape?"  
  
When Snape had first purchased Slug & Jiggers, he'd bought several books on running a business, including one about Muggle businesses. They had a thing called Insurance, something they could pay a little bit for each month, and if something like this happened, the Insurance would give them enough money to fix things up again.  
  
"Snape?"  
  
There wasn't anything in the wizarding world like that. The Apothecarium barely broke even in any given month. He had no idea where he was going to get the money to replace the special magic-resistant shelves. Or his stock.  
  
"Snape!"  
  
Snape slowly raised his head and looked at Potter.  
  
"Oh, dear," said Harry, proceeding to sketch out a chair in the air in front of him and solidify it. "Sit down."  
  
Snape did.  
  
"Here, you'd better drink this, too." He held out a hastily-conjured glass of something amber, then sketched out a chair for himself, identical to the first.  
  
The liquid turned out to be scotch, and it burned a smooth path down to his belly. Two more sips, and the shaking started.  
  
Potter pulled the glass away before it could slip out of his fingers, and set it on the floor between them. Snape looked away to the door when he heard several Apparition pops. Harry rose to greet the newcomers.  
  
"Kingsley! Thank you for coming so quickly," said Potter, but his voice seemed far away. Snape's eyes felt very heavy. He was aware of the Aurors examining the damage, and a few of them surrounded his chair.  
  
"I think he's in shock," said Potter's voice quite close to his ear, but he didn't know to whom Potter was speaking. Idiot boy. Of course he was in shock. Every muscle in his body felt like lead, and he couldn't stop shaking. He felt a wand sweep over his head and chest, and heard someone 'tsch, tsch' at him.  
  
"He's put himself through the wringer recently, hasn't he? And now, this," said an unfamiliar voice. "Yes, but can you help him?" said Potter's. "Certainly. It should only take a few minutes."  
  
Snape felt someone take his hand, and his mind wandered somewhere else for a while. When he came to, he was propped comfortably on a couch in the middle of his store, Potter next to him, with a blanket he didn't recognise pulled up to his chest.  
  
"Feeling better?" Potter smiled at him.  
  
Snape thundered. "No need to make fun of me, Potter!"  
  
"What! I'm not poking fun. And if you're responding like that, I guess you are feeling better." Potter had the gall to look relieved about it, even as he got up from his chair.   
  
Snape suffered a momentary pang, thinking Potter was leaving him like this until Shacklebolt sat down in his place.  
  
"Can we ask you some questions, Snape?"  
  
"I'll just go make some more tea," said Potter, and disappeared behind the beads.  
  
\---------------------------   
  
His apology to the Weasleys went much better than he had any right to expect. Potter had left him an hour earlier, and Severus had found, when he arrived, that Potter had come here. He had no idea what Potter had told them, but within an hour of arriving, letter in tow, he found himself ensconced on a comfortable sofa next to Potter recounting their afternoon adventures to four wide-eyed kids and the Weasley adults. Of course, he glossed over his own condition afterward, and he made light of the rather onerous work of restoring the glass in all the broken windows and casting some much stronger wards on them than he had done previously, but they were thrilled to hear about it nevertheless.  
  
"Wow, it's just like the war!" said Crispin.  
  
"Did you see who did it, Professor Snape?" said Jane.  
  
"Just Mr. Snape, now," said Snape. "I haven't taught in years."  
  
"Yeah, yeah, but did you see the bloke who did it?" Crispin asked. "Are you and Uncle Harry going to find this guy and make him pay?" He had an unholy gleam in his eye.  
  
"You're positively bloodthirsty today," said Potter, "aren't you?"  
  
"I think he got it from Fred. Or maybe me," said George. "We're educating him in private to become our heir," he turned to Fred. "I think we're softening him up nicely, don't you?"  
  
"Oh, definitely," said Fred, "But he's still a little crispy around the edges."  
  
"Hey! That's not fair!" said Crispin.  
  
"Do stop teasing him," said Hermione, "Ron, tell them. He'll be fuming all night and never get to sleep."  
  
"Uh... yeah. You two, stop it or I'm sending him to live with you for a week. That ought to foil your plans." He frowned, puzzled. "Come to think of it, that might be a good idea."  
  
"Mr. Snape!" Crispin got his attention back. " _Are_  you going to get the guy?"  
  
Snape turned back to the kids, "Absolutely not. I'm going to leave it in the hands of the Aurors," he turned to glare at Potter, "and Mr. Potter, here, isn't going to interfere."  
  
Potter rolled his eyes.  
  
"Aw, you're no fun!" said Crispin. "I'm going to go play exploding snap up in the attic."  
  
"But really, what are you going to do?" Hermione asked Snape, who sat across from them with Edward kicking and cooing in her lap.  
  
Snape sighed. "I don't know. The Aurors likely won't be able to find who did it. And it will take awhile to rebuild what was destroyed."  
  
"Oh, but surely you can conjure up some shelves and order new supplies..."  
  
"The stock requires magic-resistant shelves to keep their properties from mingling too much before they're sold. They are quite expensive, as are many of the stock items." He carefully kept his face blank. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Arthur lose his happy gleam for a moment. Young Mrs. Weasley looked nervously at her husband, who shrugged just the slightest bit and rolled his eyes at Potter.  
  
Dear, sweet Merlin, they had better not be conspiring to offer him money.  
  
But when Potter finally spoke, what he said wasn't at all expected.  
  
"So, I saw you have a room for rent," he said. "Is it still available?"  
  
Snape raised his eyebrow and said, "You can't possibly want -- don't you want to get your own place?" He saw it for what it was, charity, of a sort, but it was a compromise he was willing to make; the room had been vacant since he'd bought the place.  
  
"Eventually. But I can't stay here at the Weasleys until I do," said Potter. "That's too much of an imposition."  
  
"Harry, you know we'd love to have you," said Molly.  
  
"Molly, thank you, but no," he said. "It could be months before I find a place I want, and you deserve to have your home to yourself." He smiled. "But it makes me happy to think that if I needed to, you'd let me."  
  
"But --"  
  
"Molly -- let him go," said Arthur. "He's a young man; he needs his freedom, away from parental eyes."  
  
"Well, I suppose," said Molly, though she didn't sound very certain. "But Harry, if you find yourself uncomfortable, you come right back here and make yourself at home!"  
  
"Thank you," said Potter, his smile appearing to be quite genuine.  
  
He turned back to Snape. "So -- can I have it, then?"  
  
"I suppose," sighed Snape, with considerably more grace than he thought he could muster. He really must be more tired from his ordeal than he thought. "It's forty Galleons a week, which includes board. If you want anything special to eat you'll have to fend for yourself, but I cook three meals."  
  
"That sounds like a bit of heaven, actually," said Potter, looking really pleased. "The camp where I was working outside of Bombay had a horrible cook, and I usually ended up Apparating into town for a bite when I could manage it."  
  
"You are making the fatal assumption, Potter, that I am a good cook."  
  
He was quite surprised when everybody laughed. He looked warily around at them all, and for the first time that day, smiled.  
  
"We shall work out the details tomorrow, then, shall we?" he said, as he rose from the couch.  
  
"I'll floo into town after breakfast."  
  
"Very well, then," said Snape, and with that, he was out the door and Apparating.


	4. Chapter 4

"So, mate, we're still on for tomorrow night?"  
  
"Yeah!" said Harry, finishing packing up. "I haven't done a decent pub crawl in years."  
  
"It was quite decent of Fleur and Mum to offer to watch the kids."  
  
"I'm just glad you can come, Hermione."  
  
"Thank you, Harry. It's been a while since it was just the three of us," she said.  
  
Harry shrunk his broom case, trunk and curio, wrapped them in handkerchiefs and put them in his pockets.  
  
"I still can't believe you're going to do this," said Ron, starting down the stairs. "I'm sure Mum would love to have you, no matter how long it takes for you to find your own place."  
  
Harry lowered his voice. "Yeah, but Ron, can you really see me bringing someone home for a night while I'm here?"  
  
"You've got a point, there," Ron whispered back.  
  
Hermione turned at the bottom of the stairs. "Oh! So you're ready to date, again, then?" She sounded pleased about that.  
  
"I think I would have been dating before this if I hadn't been working so hard."  
  
"Well, it shouldn't be a problem pulling blokes at Snape's. He doesn't care a bit about you."  
  
"Ron!" Hermione whispered, and drew her finger across her throat. "Mum's down here somewhere!"  
  
"I don't know about that, Ron," Harry whispered. "He was really rather decent during the war."  
  
"Just because you worked well together doesn't mean he cares what you do," Ron whispered back.  
  
"I suppose you're right about that. Anyway, all the better for me," said Harry, then in a louder voice, "Thank you, Molly, for a lovely holiday!"  
  
"It was so lovely to see you, dear," said Molly. "I'm so pleased you've decided to return home for good," she pulled him down into a hug.  
  
"Please tell Arthur I said thanks, too," he said.  
  
"I certainly will." She pressed a crumpled hanky to the corner of her eye.  
  
"I missed you all. It's good to be back." He looked around the room, and smiled.  
  
"Uncle Harry! You can't go!" said Crispin, indignant. "You promised to give me the very first ride on the Mercury!"  
  
"I never said any such thing, Crispin," said Harry, "but if you really want the very first ride, you can have it.  _After_  it's completely finished and I know it's safe."  
  
Hermione breathed a small sigh of relief.  
  
"Well -- I'm off." He waved at them all. "See you tomorrow night," he said to Ron and Hermione. He tossed a handful of floo powder in the grate, said "Leaky Cauldron!" and disappeared.  
  
\---------------------------   
  
Harry stopped at Gringotts to get money for his deposit on the room and make up a letter of transfer for forty Galleons weekly to Snape's vault, then made his way back to the Apothecarium. Snape was in the bare corner with a long roll of parchment and quill in hand, making a tally of his losses. The broom quietly swept away next to him, cleaning up the debris.  
  
Snape looked up at him when the bell tinkled. "You're here," he said.  
  
"Does that startle you?"  
  
"Some."  
  
"I did say I needed a place to stay."  
  
"I rather thought you'd change your mind. Or be persuaded to change your mind."  
  
"No," said Harry, looking around.  
  
"Well, I suppose I should show you the room and give you the grand tour," said Snape. He put down the parchment and quill and looked at Harry. "Where are your things?"  
  
"What?" He brought his attention back to Snape. "Oh! Here. In my pockets." Harry patted them. "I don't have much."  
  
Snape frowned. "Very well." He led the way behind the counter, parted the curtain of beads that led into the sitting room, then through the narrow door next to his desk and up the stairwell. The stairs were steep and narrow, and turned around right at the top. There was a door just off the landing, and one at the end of the hall. Snape led him to the latter, and showed him in.  
  
"This is your room." Snape pointed his wand, and a fire crackled to life in the grate.  
  
Harry looked around and was actually quite pleased. The room was plenty large, as wide as the shop, and almost as deep. A big fireplace with huge brass lions for andirons lay in the middle of the inside wall. Parked across from the hearthrug was a vast, old sofa with a low table in front of it, and a narrow, high table behind with a lamp on it. The head of a very large bed abutted the other side of the high table, facing the windows that lined the entire south wall. A small desk sat in the southwest corner. The sun shone down on the worn wood, which glowed a honey gold. Harry walked into the light and looked down into Diagon Alley below. There were people walking to and fro. He heard a shout, then an answering one, and two boys not much older than Crispin dashed out of the Cauldron and down the street, stopping in front of Quality Quidditch.  
  
Harry turned back to Snape to find him staring.  
  
After a moment, Snape blinked and said, "The linen is fresh."  
  
"Thank you. This is -- very nice, actually," said Harry.  
  
Snape didn't quite smile. "Please get yourself settled. When you're done, come down and we'll take care of the details." He turned and left the room.  
  
It wasn't long before Harry had his trunk set up at the foot of the bed, the curio set up under the window next to the desk and his broom case set up on the workbench, which he normally kept shrunk in his case for travel. Standing at the door, he took a long look around the room before going downstairs. Snug, peaceful, and well-lit... everything his digs in Bombay hadn't been. It felt like home.  
  
He negotiated his way down the narrow stairs and through the beads into the shop. Snape was back at the front of the store sitting on one of Harry's conjured chairs making his tally. He looked a little drawn and pale.  
  
"Can I help you?"  
  
Snape looked up. "Thank you for offering," said Snape, "but it would require that you knew my stock and where I kept it.  
  
"Ah."  
  
"Well," said Snape, putting down the tally and standing up, "let's take care of business." He went behind the counter and through the beads, and Harry followed.  
  
On Snape's desk lay a contract parchment, which he picked up and handed to Harry. "It's bog-standard, but you ought to read it before you sign."  
  
  
 _Date: __________________  
  
I, _______________________ (the undersigned lessor) do hereby agree:  
  
To pay to _______________________ (the undersigned lessee), proprietor of ___________________ (insert business name here), the amount of ___________________ (amount) per ______________ (time period -- use any standard unit of time equal to or larger than a day) for the use of one private room, board, and the use of common kitchen and bath facilities.  
  
Not to curse, hex or physically damage in any way any leased property, or any other property owned by the lessor.  
  
That scullery service is not included in the lease fee, and that household cleaning charms be limited to those outlined in  _Standards in Innkeeping_  by Daisy Dodderidge, unless otherwise agreed upon.  
  
That this contract may be quit by either or both parties at such time that prior notice of _____________ (number) ____________ (time period -- use any standard unit of time equal to or larger than a day) duration is given.  
  
Signed,  
  
__________________________(lessor) _________________________(lessee)_  
  
  
"All the blank spaces need to be filled in by you. One week notice; Merlin only knows what you're going to do next with your life. I sign after you."  
  
When they were finished, the contract duplicated itself and Harry folded his copy into his pocket.  
  
"Well, that's that," said Harry.  
  
"Yes," said Snape. "It is."  
  
Harry looked up to find Snape staring at him again. He couldn't help staring back.  
  
Snape's intense scrutiny made it difficult to think, but he had a great deal of it to do, so he tried. The truth was, he had no idea what he was going to do next. It was his plan to begin searching for jobs, but he'd had enough activity the past few months to want a bit of a break. He didn't intend to take on more houses, even if they were in England and even if people were willing to pay. It had taken years, but he had come to realise, over years of intense effort, that no amount of charity work, no amount of rebuilding and renewal he did would erase the death and destruction or make him any less culpable for the destruction he committed. Already the work had begun to erode his friendships and take a toll on the people he loved and who loved him, and didn't he have a responsibility to them, too? He thought about the birthday cake Jane had made for him, which he had not been present to exclaim over and eat. Wasn't he hurting them in his zeal to make up for it all?   
  
"Mr. Potter."  
  
He'd worked the last nine years rebuilding what the war had destroyed, both here and abroad, and spent most of his war settlement on the project. Now, it was time to be home, and it didn't matter what he did as long as he had his family.  
  
"Potter!"  
  
"What?" He was pulled out of his thoughts.  
  
"Is something wrong?" asked Snape.  
  
"No," said Harry. "Why would anything be wrong?"  
  
"You're staring at me."  
  
"Oh!" Harry supposed he had been. "I'm sorry. Lost in my thoughts."  
  
"I see," said Snape, and he must have, because he was staring right back. Harry had no desire to look away, and Snape didn't look away, either. The man was different, now. Nine years of peace had caused his stare to mellow from the snapping thing it used to be: a deep pool of Occluded blankness glossed over with a distracting sheen of surface annoyance. Now it glittered, and the variegated depths showed resignation and expectation, patience and hunger, and something that gleamed, which lay on the cusp of recognition and which Harry liked. Harry felt as though it were an honest picture of Snape's complicated nature, and he was intrigued. Had Snape grown incautious since the war? Did he trust Harry enough to show him his feelings? Perhaps he felt he had no reason to hide them anymore. Harry warmed to that thought, and wondered if he were perverse for wanting it to be so. More likely, he was simply lonely. Nevertheless, he smiled.  
  
"I'm glad I'm home," said Harry. He had no idea why saying that would make Snape smile, but it did.  
  
"There are many who are glad you're here," said Snape.  
  
"Are  _you_  glad I'm here?" Harry asked, a little surprised to find that the answer was important to him.  
  
"Don't be ridiculous." Snape looked almost embarrassed.  
  
Which is about as much thanks for yesterday's help and the stack of Galleons he'd handed over as Harry supposed he would get. "I think I'll go upstairs for a bit."  
  
"I shall continue with my inventory."  
  
"See you for lunch, then?"  
  
"Half twelve, in the kitchen."  
  
\---------------------------   
  
Harry's first impression stuck -- the room was snug and peaceful. He shut the door and sat down on the couch listening to the fire pop and crackle in the grate.  
  
How strange to be alone, when for the last nine years he could count on one hand the occasions he'd had for solitude, other than the loo (and not always then, either). Luxuries like that didn't come often in community life. Even when he visited the Burrow, he was rarely alone for over a moment or two.  
  
He should get out his broom and work on it, now that he had plenty of time and no interruptions. He probably ought to pick up a  _Prophet_  and start looking for jobs.  
  
Ha. Not five minutes into his first free time in ages, and already he was thinking about another job? Still, he could just sit and circle appropriate opportunities. He didn't have to apply right away.   
  
He lay down with his head on a poufy cushion and put his feet up. The couch was much longer than it needed to be to accommodate his height. And it was firm and springy, perfect for napping or reading. Snape really must have gone to town with the cleaning and refreshing charms because there wasn't any dust on it and it smelled faintly of lavender and acacia.  
  
David used to wear a similar scent, something Muggle with a slightly spicier tang, or maybe that had been David himself. Harry missed him, still, sometimes, missed lying together with him, missed the casual caress of skin on skin, missed the sex. _That_  part of the relationship hadn't gone sour. As he thought of David his hand crept down to the bulge in his trousers, and he was only half surprised to find he was mostly hard.  
  
Oh. He was alone... he could wank, if he wanted to. Oh! Whenever he wanted to! Yes! No more hasty wanks in the loo late at night, no trying to time his showers when no one else might come in! The sheer, hedonistic joy made his cock surge to full hardness in his trousers. He lifted and angled himself pointing up, then let his palm brush up and down on the tightly confined length. Shivers coalesced on his skin.  
  
"Accio lube." He unbuttoned his trousers and pulled down his pants just enough to release his eager cock. An overture of fantasy began in his head and he settled on the first one that made his cock surge and dip toward his navel. His slick fingers formed a ring, and he settled his other fist above; when he moved the ring down over the head of his cock, it disappeared into the slick warmth of his hand. In his mind, a dark, curly head, reminiscent of David's, bobbed up and down between his legs, intent on making him cream. He slowed down a bit, not wanting to shoot too soon. He rubbed up and down with the slick flat of his hand on the underside of his cock and the scene in his head changed. He lay on his back with his dream lover over him, who was burying his face in Harry's neck and thrusting into a pool of lube on Harry's stomach. Occasionally, their cocks would bump, or he would feel the soft caress of his lover's balls swinging back and forth above him. He found the contact maddening, just the briefest touches, and his dream lover must have known because his strokes sped up until he was riding Harry at a full gallop.  
  
No! Too soon. He stopped before he tipped over the edge into bliss. Turning on his side, he lowered his pants and trousers below the dip in his arse, lubed his fingers, and slid two of them up and into himself. His other fingers formed a ring over the head of his cock and pushed. The dream lover between his legs slid down his body and pushed into Harry, thrusting into him at a slow, steady pace, smoothing over the little bump inside of him that sent electrical surges through Harry's groin. He skipped a breath when the thrusting sped up, and this time he wasn't stopping. It had been far too long. He hovered on the knife-edge of bliss, balls tight, when his dream lover raised his curly, dark head and looked into Harry's eyes. But ohgod they were  _Snape's_  eyes, glittering and expectant, and that gleaming, he knew it now, that was  _joy_ , and Harry tumbled into his release, spurting in frenzied arcs all over his face, his chest, the couch, his hand.  
  
He was still dribbling when the aftershocks arrived, collapsing his muscles and his eyelids, and he drifted for an unmeasured time, his body buzzing in a fog of deep, even breathing.  
  
A shout in the street below roused him; he sat up and surveyed the damage. White streaked up his chest and the droplets on his cheek had already begun to crust. The streak on the couch had run down and soaked in a bit. There was an awful lot of it.  
  
Over Snape? Over the surprising, paradoxical discovery that Snape knew joy? Or over his own revelation that Snape's joy meant something significant to himself? Although his thinly-veiled act of charity ought to have told him something about that already, anyway.  
  
He grabbed his wand and cast a quick cleaning charm, and he rose from the couch more relaxed than he had been in ages. And also, more lonely.  
  
One by one he hovered his spell book, his design notebook, parchment, quill and ink, and his unfinished broom and bobbed them in a line down the stairs ahead of him. He found Snape sitting on a high stool behind the counter writing in a book, so he joined him there, setting his goods down one by one on the farthest corner of the counter. Snape watched each item come in for a landing.  
  
"You don't get too many customers here, do you?" Crap! That really was  _not_  the first thing Harry would have chosen to ask had he thought about it, but it was too late now.  
  
"Fewer all the time," said Snape.  
  
"Oh."  
  
Snape turned back to his book, and Harry's one short glimpse of him showed nothing out of the ordinary, nothing of what he saw when Snape stared at him earlier.   
  
"Mind if I work down here?" said Harry, flipping open  _Charm Your Way Into Heaven_  and uncorking his ink.  
  
"Are you going to be noisy with that?"  
  
"No," said Harry. "I'm just making notes, right now. I'm designing a broom."  
  
"So I see."  
  
God, the man was irritating. "I'm figuring out which spells I'd like to put on it. Besides the obvious ones, of course."  
  
"Of course."  
  
Git. Harry stared at him, but Snape didn't look up from his bookkeeping so he let it go and turned back to his book. Every spell in the chapter on basic broom charms would be going on; they were a part of every broom. Flying charms, hovering charms, braking and cushioning charms, the ones used for brooms had been standardised for centuries and he wasn't going to muck around trying to reinvent the wheel. But he did want this broom to have special properties.   
  
"I want a broom with armour."  _That_  got his attention. Snape kept his eyes to his book but stopped writing in it.  
  
"Why?" Snape asked.  
  
"Did you take part in the Broom Battle?"  
  
"Fortunately, no," said Snape.  
  
"I did," said Harry.  
  
"And?"  
  
"Lots of people -- lots of my friends died in it."  
  
Snape said nothing, but it was obvious he was waiting for more.  
  
"They were hit by spells they knew how to block," said Harry, blinking his eyes hard, "but they couldn't do it while they were flying."  
  
Snape looked up and their eyes met. "I see."  
  
"Do you?" Harry asked. "I taught some of them those spells. In Dumbledore's Army." He swallowed. "I feel as though I failed." The statement hung heavy in the air for several moments.  
  
"In that light, I, too, failed," said Snape. He looked down at his hands, which clenched the edge of the counter, and relaxed his grip. "Fortunately, I don't look at it in that light." He looked up. "Neither should you, Potter."  
  
"How'm I supposed to look at it, then?" he said, heated.  
  
Snape looked down at his book again. " _I_  prefer to think that I did all I possibly could."  
  
Harry's breath huffed out. "Oh, do you?" Unpleasant memories of Snape from Harry's 5th and 6th year sprang to mind before more recent memories of cooperation and appreciation could.  
  
"Yes! I did," said Snape. "I do recognise what it is you're intimating, but I assure you, I did try my best. I never --" he sighed. "I never claimed to be perfect."  
  
Harry was a bit ashamed of himself for knocking Snape's effort in the war. "I'm sorry," he said.  
  
Snape said nothing.  
  
"Nothing I did was perfect, either," said Harry.  
  
"But it was adequate," said Snape. "It got the job done."  
  
"It did."  
  
"Then don't feel guilty over what you can't change." Snape took up his quill and began writing in his book again.  
  
"I guess. But this, I can change," said Harry. "I mean, I hope I'm never in another war. But I can fix for later what I couldn't do before." He took a deep breath. "If there ever is another war, at least the people fighting it will have a broom that will help protect them."  
  
In that moment, Harry surprised himself. He had never had any intentions to market this broom; he hadn't wanted to. The Mercury was just going to be for his own use, for everyday transportation and for playing pick-up games of Quidditch. Thinking of which...  
  
"It'd be useful in Quidditch, too," said Harry, getting into the idea, now. "You know what happened to Victor Krum, don't you?"  
  
"I don't follow Quidditch."  
  
"Why am I not surprised?" Harry rolled his eyes. "Anyway, three years ago, he took a fall after he missed the snitch by a hand span, and it cost Bulgaria the Cup. An irate fan hexed him from the stands, and he fell off his broom from pretty high up. Everyone was cheering for Italy, and he'd hit the ground before anyone realised what had happened. He keeps saying he'll come back, but they weren't able to do much for his arm."  
  
"Your point?"  
  
"Oh -- yeah. Well, if they had a broom with defensive spells incorporated into it, it would protect them from that sort of thing."  
  
"Is it common enough to warrant a special broom?"  
  
A good question. "No. But it could also protect players from bludgers, and those threats are imminent all the time during a game."  
  
"Wouldn't that be cheating, Potter?"  
  
"Hah! Hark at you, talking about cheating."  
  
"Leave it, Potter." Snape quirked an eyebrow at him.  
  
Harry laughed. "Fine, then. And no, it wouldn't be cheating. It isn't cheating if you have a faster broom than your opponent, is it?" Harry thought for a minute. "It would likely change the face of Quidditch, though."  
  
"How so?"  
  
"Well, for one, the beaters will have to work that much harder to have an effect on the game," said Harry. "For another, it will save team owners lots of Galleons in sidelined players and hospital bills."  
  
"You'd likely make a fortune selling to them," said Snape.  
  
"Yeah..." Harry snaked a leg behind the other high stool and sat down on it. "Maybe." But he didn't think his interest in making the brooms would extend to setting up shop and selling them. He might be able to sell the design, though, and let someone else make them.  
  
He settled down to the book and began taking notes.  
  
\---------------------------   
  
Two hours of diligent research later, Harry had an impressive list of spells, but none of them were defensive. There was an invisibility spell, but that only made the broom invisible, not the rider. Harry was pretty impressed by the inventor of it, though; a fourth year Hogwarts student, who, several generations ago, was not allowed a broom, had decided it was Quidditch or nothing and bought one of his own. The spell had been devised as a means to hide it. Harry thought that the kid had his priorities straight.  
  
Still, he was stuck. "Here, you're awfully good at defence," said Harry, breaking a silence long enough to cause Snape's quill to jerk across the order form he was filling out. "Have you had any luck adapting defence spells to objects?"  
  
Snape sighed and picked up the blotter. "I haven't thought about it. I have cursed boxes and other containers so that nobody but the owner could not possibly abscond with the contents."  
  
"No -- that's not what I need," said Harry, thankful he had never run across anything like that. "That sort of thing might be useful to prevent theft, but it's got rather gruesome side effects, don't you think?"  
  
If Harry had expected an argument, Snape wrong-footed him with a simple, "Yes. What is it you're trying to accomplish, Potter?"  
  
"Well -- I want an invisibility spell that turns the broom and rider invisible. But not until a button is pushed." Harry looked down at his notes and thought. "I'd really like a shield charm around the broom and the rider, and something like an Imperturbable, too, to guard against physical objects like bludgers. Or arrows," said Harry, remembering a poem from a book Dudley had trampled and discarded whilst in primary school, "or bullets. A clock would be nice, and a compass, wind speed monitor, velocity gauge, altimeter, something that gives the angle to the ground both front to back and side to side, and radar, to detect approaching objects. Those would be really useful for flying in a fog. Oh, and cruise control for long flights so I can sit back and relax without changing direction, altitude or speed."  
  
Snape pushed the form away and lay down his quill. "You've lost me on that last. Cruise control?"  
  
"Oh! It's a Muggle thing," said Harry. "Something that keeps an automobile going at the same rate of speed without the driver ever having to push on the gas pedal, but a broom version could do more."  
  
"My father had a Mini Cooper," said Snape, "but I don't remember any buttons or toggles on the dash that did that. Anything else you want on your broom?"  
  
Harry looked up sharply at Snape's dry tone. The man was smirking.  _Smirking_. "No. Unless you would like to offer up some ideas of your own." Harry kept his eyes firmly on Snape's and struggled to keep the corners of his mouth firmly tacked down. He had a sneaking suspicion his eyes showed it, though, because Snape's smirk turned to a full-blown smile.  
  
"Not yet." The smile faded. "In the meantime, I would be happy to help you create the necessary spells, if you'd like."  
  
Harry contemplated Snape's offer. He seemed serious. He was brilliant at defence. Harry would be a fool to turn down help from a master of the craft.  
  
"You're on." He smiled. "Thank you."  
  
"Not at all."  
  
Snape looked at the clock on the wall just above the counter. "It's lunch time, Mr. Potter. What would you like?"


	5. Chapter 5

Harry woke before dawn to a distant groan; it took a few seconds to realise it came from the pipes and not Snape. He fumbled for his wand.  
  
" _Tempus_."  
  
Good God, it hadn't even gone five, yet. What was the man doing running the shower at this hour? Harry wondered if he would be able to get back to sleep if he took a fast trip to the loo. But the loo was all the way downstairs, and he had no intention of breaking his neck to get there. Besides, he'd have to stay awake until the room was free. He let his eyes close, and within moments was once again asleep.  
  
When next he woke, the sun was streaming in low from the southeast corner and into his eyes. He heard the shop door open below, the bell above it jingling, and soon after the low murmur of voices. He stared at the dust motes glowing like miniscule stars in a jumbled constellation above his head, and his eyes eventually came to rest on the plaster rippled between rough beams darkened with age.  
  
He had absolutely no reason in the world to get up right away for the first time in -- ages, really. Not since school. He stretched his arms above his head and let his fingers run over the smooth curve of the headboard. The drafty air chilled his skin even as the sunshine warmed it. Delicious. It invigorated him almost as much as the scent of freshly-polished wood warmed by the sun, mingled with the same faint lavender and acacia he had smelt on the couch yesterday.  
  
Oh, yesterday's escapade on the couch! The memory stirred his cock to full attention. His legs spread wide under the quilt. In the morning light, his confusion over seeing Snape's eyes at the moment of his release resolved itself into one manageable and likely explanation: it was simply a fluke. Likely his memory of Snape's cooperation and protection during the latter part of the war had transferred itself to Harry's interpretation of that stare, which made him see more than what was really there. Yes, that must be the case. Harry felt a weight rise from his chest that he hadn't known was there. He gave his cock a squeeze, promising it a bit of attention in the bath. And with any luck, he'd pull a bloke at the pub with Ron and Hermione tonight, making it the first time in ages he will have got off more than once in a day. Of course, pulling a bloke wasn't a permanent solution, but it promised to be more satisfying than his right hand.   
  
Rising out of his toasty nest, he summoned his kit and razor and made his way downstairs. On his way to the bathroom, he found a plate and cup on the table with warming spells on them promising three eggs scrambled with bubble and squeak. That was plenty of motivation to propel him through his morning ablutions.  
  
Snape came in just as he was washing up his breakfast dishes.  
  
"I see you haven't an affinity for the morning hours," said Snape.  
  
"Not today, at any rate," said Harry.  
  
"And do you normally?"  
  
"Yes, when I have reason to," said Harry, refusing to rise to the bait. "I hear your pipes haven't an affinity for the morning hours, either." He put away his plate.  
  
"I suppose I should have warned you about that," said Snape, not sounding a bit bothered that he hadn't.  
  
"Never mind. Now that I know what it is, I'll likely sleep through it." Harry picked up his cutlery and dried it.  
  
"Ah, the fortunes of youth." Snape turned on the tap and thrust the kettle under it; the groaning was much louder down here.  
  
"What, you don't sleep well?" Harry dried his cup.  
  
"Rarely, Potter." Snape put the kettle on the stove and turned on the gas.  
  
"I don't remember that. During the war you slept very soundly, the chances I had to observe you at it." Harry began putting his breakfast things away.  
  
"During the war, I rarely had the opportunity for an uninterrupted night," said Snape. He sat down at the table. "Here, you might as well give me the cup."  
  
Harry changed direction and set the cup in front of Snape. "There's still a little left in the pot. Take it, and I'll make a fresh one."  
  
"Thank you, Potter."  
  
"Harry." Hmmm. His fantasy was taking its toll on his sanity. He took the empty teapot from Snape and shook a little from the tin into the bottom.  
  
"Very well, Harry. I suppose you may call me Severus," said Snape, not quite sounding grudging.  
  
"Thank you. Severus," said Harry. This would take some getting used to. He turned off the gas and tapped the kettle with his wand. It immediately boiled. The leaves at the bottom of the teapot danced madly as he poured the steaming water onto them. Harry set it on the table in front of Snape -- Severus. "How's business today?" He slid onto the bench across from him.  
  
"In point of fact," said Severus, looking a bit surprised, "it's unusually brisk. I'm selling a great deal of ready-made Glaberolia potion and its ingredients."  
  
"Oh, yeah. I heard on the WWN that dragon pox is going around.  _Accio_  fresh tea cup." He poured for both of them, Severus first. "Have you ever had it?"  
  
"No. You?"  
  
"Not at all. I had chicken pox when I was little," said Harry, shivering at the memory. "My Aunt Petunia quarantined me but it didn't stop her precious Dudders from getting it." He snickered.  
  
"It's nothing to get as an adult, Potter. Harry," Severus amended. "Dragon Pox can make you sterile if you contract it as an adult."  
  
"That would hardly make a difference to me," said Harry.  
  
"No, I suppose it wouldn't." Severus paused. "Me, either."  
  
"Is that so?" Harry wasn't that surprised, so why was he feeling warm all of a sudden? "Am I making the correct assumption?"  
  
"Probably." Severus picked up his cup and took a large swig. Harry thought he looked a bit disgruntled.  
  
"Huh. One does learn something new every day." Harry took a sip of his tea, too. Back in school, the boys in his dorm had speculated more than once about Severus' sexual preference. Harry hadn't paid too much attention; he had been seriously struggling with his own. And during the war... well, he'd never seen Severus go to anyone for comfort. How lonely he must have been.  
  
"Yes. For instance," said Severus, "I have learned just this morning that I am very low on Glaberolia potion and will have to spend my lunch brewing and decanting."  
  
"Shall I make myself scarce, then," suggested Harry, "or would you like me to cook lunch?"  
  
"I've hardly fallen apart over a missed meal," said Severus.  
  
"Scarce it is, then."  
  
Just then, the door charm jingled. Severus stood and put his cup in the sink, cast  _Detergio_  and went back into the shop. The little green frog belched forth the brush, which began to scrub the cup. Harry snorted. He floated his cup and the teapot to the sink, grabbed two apples out of the cold cabinet, and went upstairs to work on his broom.  
  
\---------------------------   
  
Business was indeed brisk, and when Severus finished brewing and reopened his shop, he was surprised to find a line of customers waiting for him. All but one were there for Glaberolia potion, and Severus congratulated himself for lining up his fresh stock on the counter by the till. Fifteen minutes saw the lot of them taken care of, which was timely, as an unholy racket sounded in the floo. Severus ducked behind the beads.  
  
"Oh, there you are, Mr. Snape. Friedrichs and Friedrichs Medicinal Herbs." The stout little man removed his bowler and turned it nervously in his fingers. "Everything you ordered is there," he said, pointing with his hat to the bags and packages piled against the wall, "and here is the bill of sale." He reached into the breast pocket of his robes and handed it over. "Do write to us if you have any questions or problems with our products." The man popped his bowler firmly on his head and backed into the floo. "Ta!" He was gone in a twist of flame.  
  
Another clatter sounded; this one was Potter rattling down the stairs. "Is everything okay? I heard a commotion."  
  
Severus rolled his eyes. "Everything is fine, Potter." He shook his head. "Harry."  
  
"Oh." Harry looked at the very large stack of goods. "What's that, then?"  
  
"The first of my replacement stock has arrived," said Severus.  
  
"Excellent!" said Harry. "Oh, wait, though. Your shelving isn't here yet, is it?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Well, I hope for your sake it comes soon or we're going to have to levitate ourselves over everything."  
  
"You are a master of the obvious." If he didn't let at least a little of his annoyance show, it was going to come out in his blood pressure.  
  
"You don't have to be rude about it," said Harry.  
  
The bell above the door jingled and Harry followed him out behind the counter.  
  
"Do you want me to help you check that stuff in?"  
  
 _Absolutely not!_  was Severus' gut reaction, but he didn't voice it. The work was tedious, and after a little thought, he was more than a bit satisfied to palm it off. While Harry worked, he would at least be out of Severus' hair, and in between customers Severus could write a letter to Cuthbertson's Shelving informing them he would  _not_  be paying the rush order premium, as they had yet to deliver. So Severus said "Yes. Thank you," and handed Harry the order form. Harry snagged a Nev-R Ink quill from the cup beside the till and ducked back behind the beads.  
  
Where was Severus' own quill? Oh yes -- he'd folded it in the book. He retrieved it and a small square of parchment off the stack from which he usually scripted bills of sale, and set to work.  
  
 _Wednesday, 28 December, 2005  
  
Dear Mr. Cuthbertson,  
  
I was given to believe from your advertisement that a rush order placed by 6 p.m. on a Monday would arrive by noon the following day. We are now 27 hours past that deadline, and I would like to protest..._  
  
Two hours later, Harry emerged from behind the beads with a wrinkled and ink-dappled inventory. "I counted everything and put it back in its shipping packaging."  
  
"Thank you," said Severus.  
  
"I hope you don't mind, but I transfigured some temporary shelves on the wall," said Harry. He held up his hand to stall Severus' objections. "Everything ought to be okay if it stays in its packaging, oughtn't it?"  
  
Severus breathed a sigh of relief. "That was thoughtful of you. Thank you."  
  
"You're welcome," said Harry. He handed the parchment back to Severus, who filed it in the cabinet behind the till.  
  
Severus turned back to the book he was reading, but Harry hovered in his field of vision. "What?"  
  
"Well... I'm knackered and I bet you are, too," said Harry. "What d'you say to Indian take-away? There's a place in Muggle London a few blocks from here. They're really rude, but the food's good."  
  
"The Grand Indian?" Severus considered. They did a nice lamb pasanda, and he was rather tired.  
  
"My treat," said Harry.  
  
"If anything, I should treat you," said Severus.  
  
"Well, thanks!" said Harry. "I'll just go wash and brush up, then."  
  
He'd walked into that one. At least the Grand was cheap, and he hadn't been to Gringotts yet with Harry's deposit on the room. He went upstairs and exchanged his robe for a pullover; everything else he was wearing would pass. He straightened his collar in the mirror.  
  
"Not going to comb your hair, dearie?"  
  
So lost in his thoughts was he that he hadn't even considered that. He ran a brush through once all around, and tied it back with a short leather lace.  
  
"You look lovely, dearie. Got a date?"  
  
"You're a nosy piece of furniture, aren't you?" He did look a sight more put together than he had in quite some time; however, he absolutely refused to consider his motives for doing so or the reason his cheeks had suddenly flushed plum.  
  
Harry was sitting at the kitchen table when he came out of the loo. "Ready?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
Harry followed him out and waited while he locked up the shop, then they trudged through the snow to the Cauldron. The air blew crisp and clean around them. Sparkles flew kaleidoscopic patterns with every gust, and lamplight gilded everything.  
  
It was quite a bit darker and smokier in the Cauldron, where Severus stopped and exchanged Galleons for pounds at the bar. Harry leaned up next to him during the exchange.  
  
"Why, it's Harry Potter!"  
  
"Hullo, Tom. Business good?"  
  
"Strapping, as usual. You two headed out this evening?" Tom had a definite gleam in his eye. Severus realised this little jaunt was going to become legendary gossip up and down the Alley in short order.  
  
"Thank you, Tom," Severus broke in, tucking the pound notes into his billfold. Then to Harry, "Shall we?"  
  
"Yeah, I'm starving!"  
  
Harry's eyes lit up and Severus supposed there was no hope that Tom hadn't seen it.  
  
"Bye," said Harry.  
  
"See you later, Harry. Snape."  
  
Severus was already at the door; he opened it when he felt Harry approach, and they stepped into a far more soggy and smelly London.  
  
\---------------------------   
  
"I think Tom was a little disappointed we came back so quickly," said Harry, promptly stuffing his face with a huge bite of curry.  
  
"He did seem interested in the takeaway, though." Severus dropped another spoonful of saag paneer onto his rice.  
  
Harry poured the tea.  
  
"Thank you."  
  
"He's a horrible old gossip," said Harry. "Did you see how everyone stopped talking when we came back through?"  
  
"Who could miss it?" Severus rolled his eyes.  
  
"I thought you'd be a bit more upset about it. Doesn't it bother you?"  
  
"Harry, I've been stared at all my life for one thing or another. Tonight was just another coal on that fire." One he wasn't averse to heaping on again and again, as some of the stares had been rather envious. He could count on one hand the times anyone had been envious of him. He felt positively smug. He took a bite of the lamb pasanda and moaned. The Grand Indian really did a good one and he hadn't had it in ages.  
  
"Nice, isn't it?" Harry grinned, and toasted him with his fork. "You know, I thought they looked rather shocked." He took another bite of curry.  
  
Severus gave him a frank look. "Perhaps they weren't expecting to see you."  
  
"I have been gone quite a while." Harry took a sip of his tea and stared back.  
  
"My, we are narcissistic, aren't we? I could be wrong. It could simply have been the loo roll stuck to your shoe."  
  
Harry looked. "Git. There's nothing there. And it's simply the truth. Every time I appear anywhere, people stare. Today, they were shocked."  
  
"Well, they shouldn't be, not after the spread in  _The Prophet_  on Boxing Day."  
  
Harry put his fork down and sighed. "What a fiasco."  
  
Severus considered Harry's reaction. He almost felt sorry for Harry. The headline had read 'The Boy Who Won is back -- as The Boy Who Sings!'  
  
Severus shuddered, and lowered his fork into the saag paneer. "What a cock-up."  
  
Harry winced. "Mind you, there have been worse."  
  
Severus had seen them, too. "True. Some of it slanderous. Please pass the yoghurt." He spooned some onto his plate and took another bite of the lamb. "You should have taken  _The Prophet_  to court with your settlement money."  
  
Harry let out a single bark of laughter. "Like that would have accomplished anything other than a colossal waste of money."  
  
"I suppose you're right." Which left Severus with another question he'd wondered about over the years. "Harry, why did you really decide to build houses?"  
  
Harry toyed with his napkin before he answered. " _The Prophet_  got some of it right. The facts, anyway."  
  
"So you did use your war settlement money for the project? Why? The Ministry did adopt a rebuilding measure."  
  
"They had done, but there was nowhere near enough money for the job, not after they gave so much to me." Harry looked a bit sick at that. "I guess political capital will always come before practicalities."  
  
"So you decided to do the job you thought the Ministry ought to have done?" Severus was frankly surprised. In addition to Galleons, it must have taken a lot of gall to show up the Ministry like that. He decided he liked Harry immensely for it.  
  
"Something like that."  
  
"What made you leave England, then? You've been abroad for, what, two and a half years, now?"  
  
"Not everyone wanted help."  
  
"I find that very hard to believe."  
  
"That's the Slytherin in you."  
  
Severus snorted. "Fair enough."  
  
"I offered to help a lot of people who didn't meet the Ministry guidelines. Some of them..." he took a deep breath, "some of them just didn't want it. Because it was from me."  
  
Severus tried to imagine the Malfoys accepting help from Harry, and saw his point.  
  
"I still had a great deal of money left, and a top-flight crew who wouldn't have jobs if I abandoned the project," said Harry, looking up, "so I moved our operations to India and helped fund and build houses for earthquake victims."  
  
Noble effort, but Severus thought it a bit of a waste. "They're just going to fall down again in the next big quake."  
  
Harry grinned a sly one. "Not  _my_  houses."  
  
Severus put his fork down. "You didn't."  
  
"I did." Harry looked positively pleased with himself.  
  
"You used magical supports on Muggle houses?" Severus was, frankly, incredulous. "Do you have no sense of self-preservation?"  
  
"Of course I do!" Harry looked annoyed. "I got approval from the local wizarding community. They've been doing it for years, and had some really well-refined spells for it."  
  
"How did you get them cast? I assume your crew was Muggle."  
  
"We were half and half. Henderson's a wizard, and I made sure I had at least two during every stage of building, and all of them were required to be there when we laid foundations."  
  
"Practical."  
  
"It was. It worked. And no one was ever caught." Harry grinned. "I made us all transfigure our wands into tape measures. No one thought twice if we whipped one out and started measuring."  
  
Ingenious. Severus laughed.  
  
"I'll put this in the cold cupboard for later, shall I?" Harry stood and gathered the remains of their meal.  
  
"You're clearing up already?" Severus was distinctly disappointed. He was enjoying himself for the first time in -- he didn't know how long.  
  
"Oh! Yeah," Harry hesitated, "Ron and Hermione and me are doing a pub crawl tonight..."  
  
Oh no. Harry wasn't going to ask him along, was he? Harry grown up turned out to be surprisingly good company, but he had no desire to play fifth wheel.  
  
"And..." Harry continued, "Well, I don't have any decent clothes. D'you have a black jumper I could borrow?"  
  
"What?!"  
  
"I said, do you --"  
  
"I heard what you said, Potter, I just can't believe you said it."  
  
"Harry."  
  
"Well,  _Harry_ , have you heard of a lovely magical practice called transfiguration?"  
  
Harry blushed.  
  
Really, Harry had  _quite_  a bit of gall. Asking him for a shirt, indeed. He supposed he ought to feel slighted, but all he could do was smile.  
  
\---------------------------   
  
Severus was well into his third pot of tea when finally he heard the shop door jingle. Deciding to leave the washing up for the morning, he marked his place in his book. Reading into the wee hours was a luxury he hadn't allowed himself in ages, and he was quite tired. He steadfastly refused to think he was staying up just so he could talk to Harry again. Just as he entered the sitting room, Harry pushed through the beads pulling someone else through behind him.  
  
Severus stood stock-still at the sight of Harry holding the hand of a handsome young man. He recognised him as a former student -- Andrew something-or-other -- who had gone through Hogwarts a few years ahead of Harry.  
  
"Oh! Severus. I'm sorry. Did we disturb you?" Harry looked contrite. His partner said nothing, but gulped nervously.  
  
"No," said Severus, the breath rushing out of him. "I was just going to bed."  
  
"We're just going to get some tea, then," he said, starting for the kitchen door.  
  
"There's half a pot in there, still warm. You're welcome to it."  
  
Harry started at him a moment. "Thanks. Uh -- see you tomorrow."  
  
"Indeed."  
  
He made his way up the stairs, and decided that it must be the long day and the late, late night that was making him feel so very tired and old. Obviously, there was no other reason it could possibly be. No reason at all.


	6. Chapter 6

Andrew was a sweet and needy and generous lover; he made Harry come three times and even let Harry top once. But when the flush of arousal left Harry sometime near dawn, he heartily wished Andrew away. Sex was one thing, but he was in no mood to share the intimacy of sleep with a stranger.  
  
Which is why, late next morning, when Harry inched out a hand and encountered nothing but cold, empty sheets, he was very relieved. He listened for a moment and heard nothing beyond his own breathing and something sliding across the floor downstairs. He opened his eyes to a bright, sunny day and was glad he'd remembered to take the hangover potion before going to bed last night.  
  
Well -- best get on with the day. Today's breakfast sat out on the table just like yesterday's, except today there were two plates and no warming charms. The bacon and potatoes lay congealed in a greasy, unappetizing mass, and the tea was stone cold.  
  
Harry poked his head through the beads and found Severus in aisle three, cycling stock by hand. "Severus, were you waiting to eat with me?"   
  
Severus never took his eyes off his task, but that didn't prevent Harry from noticing that he was frowning. "Why on earth would I wait breakfast for you? The second plate is for your paramour. Nice of me to feed your fuck, don't you think?"  
  
Harry's jaw dropped. "God, you are a git, aren't you? If I'd known you were going to be coarse about it, I'd have gone to his place."  
  
"I take it he's not here, then?"  
  
"Of course not!"  
  
"Ah. I had assumed, since you were holding his hand last night..."  
  
"Oh, you assumed correctly. He was my fuck. A very nice fuck.  _Three times_  a nice fuck --" said Harry. Why was Severus clenching his fists? "-- which is exactly why he's not here now. He was just a fuck."  
  
"Now who is being coarse?"  
  
"Yes, and while we're on the topic of polite behaviour, why the fuck do you care, anyway?"  
  
"I couldn't care less into whom you stick your dick," said Severus, his fist opening and closing, "I'm just surprised you brought him here."  
  
"Where else would I bring him home to?" Harry waved his arm in the direction of the Cauldron. "You don't expect me to rent a room next door every time I want to get off with someone, do you? That wasn't in our bog standard contract. You've no right to object." He looked Severus up and down. "God, you're such a prude."  
  
Severus continued to look down, and quietly said, "Now who's making assumptions?"  
  
"Me, apparently, but I couldn't care less." He stomped back to the kitchen and hurled a warming charm at one of the plates. It vaporised.  
  
Sod it. He banished the remaining plate and went next door to the Cauldron, instead.  
  
\---------------------------   
  
"Look, Mum, it's Uncle Harry!"  
  
Harry looked up from his third cup of coffee to find Jane and Crispin standing in front of him and Hermione approaching with a large, blue puff on one shoulder and a folding pram in the other hand.  
  
"Harry! I didn't expect I'd see you here so, erm, soon." She shot a glance at Jane and Crispin.  
  
Harry grinned. "I had a great time last night. With you and Ron."  
  
"And?"  
  
"Oh, Andrew was nice, too. But today's a new day."  
  
"I see." She gave him a calculating look. "Actually, the day is not so new. It's afternoon, and I promised the kids a little shopping and a trip to Fortescue's. Care to join us?"  
  
He'd nothing better to do. "Why not?"  
  
"Here, hold Edward for a moment," she said, indicating the blue puff.  
  
Harry cradled the little guy in his arms and took his first good look at him. There was no doubt he was a Weasley. His face looked like a miniature copy of Percy's, pinched and worried and surrounded by sparse, bright red curls.  
  
"Hello, Edward. I'm pleased to make your acquaintance."  
  
Edward's face turned beet red and he began to cry.  
  
"He's probably roasting in that snowsuit," said Hermione, who had unfolded the pram and laid a tiny quilt down in it. She took Edward back and strapped him into the pram. "I'll wait to put the other blanket on him until we get outside," she said, tucking it into the carriage pocket. "Shall we?"  
  
"Yes!" said Crispin, and he led the way to the back door.  
  
The air was crisp and cold after the humid warmth of the tavern. Edward stopped crying and stared at the crystalline snow blowing off the top of the courtyard wall.   
  
"Mum, may I use your wand to open the way?"  
  
"I suppose." Hermione handed Jane her wand.  
  
"No fair!" said Crispin.  
  
"You may take a turn when you are eight," said Hermione.  
  
"Can we go to Quality Quidditch first, then?" he asked. "Please, Mum?"  
  
"Very well."  
  
The last of the bricks pulled away from the entrance, and they emerged into Diagon Alley.   
  
"Drat these wheels. Hold on a moment." She transfigured the wheels into sled runners and pocketed her wand. "There we are."   
  
"That's a neat trick!" said Harry.  
  
"Would you believe George showed me that one?"  
  
Harry laughed. "Somehow, I am not surprised."  
  
They pulled up in front of Quality Quidditch, where Jane and Crispin were gawking at the slick new broom in the window.  
  
"Wow! Uncle Harry! Look at that! It's the Zephyr Mark II!"  
  
"Hmm! That looks like quite a broom." And it was rather swank, with sleek, rounded styling and swoosh marks hovering in the air behind it.  
  
"It's not as good as your broom, though."  
  
"Well -- we'll see," said Harry. "Let's go in and take a look at it, shall we?"  
  
"Oops," said Hermione, "give me a moment for the wheels -- I'll meet you in there."  
  
She approached him from behind moments later while the children were oohing and aahing over the Zephyr.  
  
"You seem a little hot and cold today," she said, speaking low next to his ear. "You hung over?"  
  
"Not so much, no," he said. "I took your advice and had the hangover potion as soon as I got home. You?"  
  
"I always take my own advice."  
  
Harry smiled.  
  
Then he frowned. "Hey, Hermione, could I ask you something?" Harry turned to face her.  
  
"Sure!" she said. "Anything you like. Is everything okay?"  
  
"Well, yeah. I think," he said. "I mean, I don't know what to think."  
  
"You're not making sense." She looked behind him. "Crispin! Get down from there this instant!"  
  
"I know," he said. "Just -- last night, when Andrew and I came in, Severus was still sitting up."  
  
She looked back at him, eyebrow raised. "'Severus?'"  
  
He rolled his eyes. "Never mind that. Hermione, the man is up by five in the morning every day. He goes to bed at eight in the evening." He gave her a significant look. "We got back at one in the morning."  
  
"Oh!" she looked startled. "That is odd. Perhaps he just couldn't sleep, or something, though. I mean, you haven't been there long enough to really know his habits, or anything."  
  
"Yeah, well, maybe."  
  
"Do you think he might have been worried about you?" she asked. "I remember during the war. When you were out late..."  
  
"Yeah, I remember." Severus never said a word about it, but he'd always wait up for him, every time.  
  
"Old habits..."  
  
"Maybe," he said, restless. "I don't know. This morning when I got up and went downstairs, there were two plates of breakfast there."  
  
"Oh..." She looked thoughtful.  
  
"Well, when I stuck my head out and asked Severus if he'd waited breakfast for me," said Harry, "he told me rather rudely that he hadn't, and that it was for me and my fuck."  
  
She shot a look over his shoulder at the kids, but must have been satisfied that they hadn't heard. "How crude! That's awful!"  
  
"It was, rather," he said. "I got mad and told him Andrew'd gone, and told him he was a prude, and he went off muttering something about who's making assumptions now, and that's when I'd just about had it and left to eat brekkers at the Cauldron."  
  
"Oh!"  
  
"What's got into him, d'you think?" asked Harry. "I mean, is he that much of a prude? I never got that impression of him during the war, and I ended up spending quite a bit of time with the man. I think I would know."  
  
"Erm." Hermione bit her lip. "Harry, I think..."  
  
"In fact, he never seemed to care at all who I slept with." Which was odd, come to think of it. Severus had never even taken a dig at him for being gay, though he'd never limited himself on any other topic.  
  
"I think --" she paused, and he pulled himself out of his thoughts and looked at her. "It sounds as though he were... jealous."  
  
Harry laughed. And then he laughed again.  
  
"Uncle Harry! What's so funny?" Crispin appeared at his side.  
  
"Nothing, sprog. But I could use your help, if you're willing?"  
  
"Sure!"  
  
Harry was relieved his diversion worked. "I want you to go look at all the compasses and find one with an invisibility charm on it, if you can. They'll be over there." He pointed, and Crispin was off. "Jane?" She looked up from a book. "Could you please follow him and keep him out of trouble?"  
  
"Yes, Uncle Harry." She took the book with her to the other side of the store.  
  
Harry turned back to Hermione. "You can't possibly be serious."  
  
"Well, it's the only thing that makes sense," she said. "Take a look at it logically. He was upset enough to be horribly crude about it, when he never had before. He was thoughtful enough to leave out two plates, even though it obviously upset him. And he said you were making assumptions calling him a prude."  
  
"Hmm."  
  
"Unless he suddenly decided to take issue with your sexuality," she said.  
  
"He never has, before," said Harry. "He knew during the war that I was gay. He never said one thing about anyone I brought back to Grimmauld Place."  
  
"Did he ever bring anyone there?" she asked.  
  
"Not that I recall," said Harry, searching his memory. "But I never thought of him as someone who...I mean, I never even considered."  
  
"Of course not. And Harry, he wouldn't have considered you, either. Not then. Come on, let's round up the kids and go to Flourish and Blotts." She wheeled Edward over to where the kids were having a spirited argument about which compass to show him.  
  
"Why wouldn't he have thought of me?" asked Harry, genuinely puzzled. "I'm still the same person I was then. What's changed? Oh, thank you Crispin." He took note of the model and the cost of the compass on a scrap of parchment, then did the same for the one Jane handed him.  
  
"Harry." She stopped and looked him up and down. "Do you really have to ask?"  
  
He took stock of himself. Still the same Harry, still short, maybe a little bit more muscular than he was in school, still just as smooth-skinned as he ever was. "I'm just older. That's really the only major difference."  
  
" _Exactly,_ " said Hermione. "You're a man, now, Harry. Severus was awful about a lot of things but he was never one to look overly long at any student."  
  
"I wasn't his student, then!" said Harry, holding the door open for her.  
  
"Of course not," said Hermione, "but you were young enough to be one."  
  
"He wasn't even teaching, then," said Harry.  
  
"Of course not, but that doesn't mean he would suddenly take an interest in boys. Stop right there, you two!" She bent to transfigure the wheels back to sleigh runners.  
  
"I suppose." He mulled it over as they caught up with the kids and trudged through the snow to Flourish and Blotts. It didn't make a bit of sense that Severus would have an interest in him at all. Over the course of the war, Harry had gone from hating the man to holding some measure of respect for him. It hadn't been easy to accept that Severus had killed Dumbledore on Dumbledore's orders, and he remembered going over the events of that horrible night in his head for months after he first learned of Severus' true loyalties.  
  
Harry's glasses steamed up as they entered Flourish and Blotts. He took them off and performed a warming charm on them.  
  
Everything about the man was difficult to reconcile, then and now. Harry hadn't ever known anyone more complicated than Severus, though Dumbledore had certainly run a close second. He couldn't imagine being able to bear even half the atrocities he knew Severus had endured and not be dead of the stress of it all. It still wasn't over for him, either. Most people didn't like him, and about as many feared him. His business was failing and his life regularly threatened. Yet, when he had looked into Harry's eyes, there had been joy there. He had told Severus he was glad to be home. And what had Severus said afterward? 'There are many who are glad you're here.'  
  
Ridiculous or not, Harry was certain Severus included himself in that group.  
  
Memories of his wanking fantasy swept over him. He drew a sharp breath and felt his face flush.  
  
"Harry, are you all right?"  
  
"Oh! Oh yeah, I'm okay. Just cold." Though really, he was anything but.  
  
"Jane and I are going to look at some elementary spell books upstairs. Would you watch Edward for me?"  
  
"Yeah, sure!"  
  
"Crispin -- come with us. There are some wizarding readers you might like to look at."  
  
"Aww, Mum. I don't want another reader," said Crispin, dragging his feet up the stairs. "Can't I get a spell book, too?"  
  
Harry wheeled Edward over to the ancient leather couch in the little-used reading corner and took a look at him. Hermione'd unzipped his snow suit and taken his arms and legs out of it, and now he lay nestled on top of it. He slept peacefully, his little fist curled around the corner of his quilt.  
  
Harry sat down, grateful for a moment to himself to think and will down his unruly erection. If Severus really were jealous, then why? The most obvious reason, to Harry's mind, just wasn't possible. Severus didn't like anyone. He tolerated people. Some people, anyway. Very few people. But Harry couldn't remember him ever liking anyone. Of course, most of his knowledge of the man came from when he himself had been a boy. More likely, Severus never shared any information about his friendships. But if he did like Harry, he must have liked someone at least once before, unless the man was only now discovering he liked men instead of women. Harry supposed it wasn't impossible, but it wasn't anywhere near probable, either. So Severus must have had a relationship or, at least, a crush in his past.  
  
Did Harry even want Severus to like him that way? He didn't look much different than what he had when Harry was at school. Taken bit by bit, Snape's hair was only slightly less greasy, and if anything his nose had developed even more of a hook. He was beginning to get that chiselled look in his skin, too, and Harry could definitely see a future involving wild, bushy eyebrows. In terms of looks, Snape wasn't very appealing at all.  
  
Looks weren't everything, though. It might actually be okay. Not likely, but okay. Few knew him better; they had a long history together, and Harry couldn't remember one tepid feeling between them. Everything about their relationship from the moment they had met had been tempestuous. And energising, Harry realised. Harry had missed having that energy as a part of his life for a surprising amount of time after he'd gone away. Nothing like a searing argument to get one to see the colours and smell the flowers.  
  
Huh. Who knew he'd ever feel affection for the man?  
  
Just then, Hermione emerged from the front of the line at the till and approached him where he sat. "Happy thoughts?"  
  
Harry smiled even more. "Yes. Are we off to Fortescue's now? I'll treat you to a hot chocolate diablo and tell you all about it."  
  
Hermione raised an eyebrow. "I'm intrigued. Children, scoot."  
  
They made it across the street in record time.  
  
"So? You look happy," said Hermione. She blew on her smoking mug. "Tell me."  
  
"Severus likes me."  
  
She rolled her eyes. "Yes, I'd figured that. That's the usual reason for unmannered jealousy."  
  
"Smarty. Here's the topper. I think I like him, too."  
  
Her eyebrows shot up. " _Really?!_ "  
  
It was his turn to roll his eyes. "You act like it's impossible."  
  
"Harry, I don't care how well you two got along during the war, you spent way too long at odds with each other for me to suddenly believe that you like him."  
  
"True. But for a long time... I've respected him. It can't have been easy for him, what he went through, you know?" He looked down at his hands. "I hated him for so much of what he'd done, to me, to Dumbledore, to everyone. I didn't even try to understand what all that had done to him."  
  
"Hmm." Hermione thought for a moment. "I don't suppose any of us were very understanding."  
  
Harry stirred his diablo and watched the smoke curl up from Crispin's nose as he argued with Jane at the counter. "Hermione, he's complex. And I can't deny --" he looked up at her.  
  
"What, Harry?" she asked.  
  
"He's attractive. Each part of him, looked at by itself, is really rather ugly," said Harry. "But when you put them all together -- well, he's not handsome. But he does have a lot of character."  
  
"I can't see it. Well, he is dark. And tall. And he's rather cornered the market as far as brooding is concerned," she said.  
  
Harry laughed. "Yeah, there's that. He does have one good feature, though. His eyes. Have you seen them?"  
  
She giggled. "Of course I have. But," she was serious, now, "I don't think I've seen anything in them like you have."  
  
"I never did either, until the other day." He trailed off, thinking again of the unveiled joy he had seen there.  
  
"Hermione, how can I go back there? I behaved horribly this morning."  
  
"Well, you'll just have to apologise, won't you?"  
  
"He won't."  
  
"Maybe not. Maybe you'll have to, first."  
  
He took a great gulp of his diablo. The smoke tickled as it poured out his nose. And it suddenly came to him what he could do to apologise. "Hermione?" He put down his cup. "I have to go. I have to get somewhere before they close."  
  
She smiled at him. "I don't think roses are his thing," she said, as he walked out the door.  
  
He smiled and waved. He had no intention of getting the man anything quite so useless.  
  
\---------------------------   
  
Severus took his tea in upright silence at the kitchen table. He quite possibly was steaming more than the tea. Nothing had gone right today. Yet another large order had come in via floo to replace more of his destroyed stock, but had anything come in the way of shelving from Cuthbertson's? No! Just a harried apology and explanation that most of their delivery staff were out with Dragon Pox, and he'd just have to wait another day or two, and no, he wasn't going to be charged extra for early delivery as that hadn't happened, now, had it? There was barely any space to walk in the sitting room, just paths to the kitchen and stairwell, so he'd ended up dragging boxes and bags to the blank area where the new shelves were supposed to be, all by hand so their magical properties would be interrupted as little as possible.  
  
Lunch time brought him Harry's absence and another threat. He saved Harry the trouble and banished his plate straight away, and it wasn't until tea time had rolled around and the promised destruction at 2 PM had not yet happened that he figured he was clear of the threat.  
  
Of course, too, there was his argument with Harry this morning. As senseless as the realization was, the clear light of dawn showed him what he was unwilling to admit last night: he was hurt. All his life, everything good that came to him had either been too costly or yanked away before he could claim it. After the war, he had thought maybe -- maybe now that the price was finally paid, he could have something good for himself: just a friendship, uncomplicated by war or desires or political intrigue, free from coercion and threats, and caveats, a relationship based on an equal footing with no undue expectations. And barring that, just plain peace.  
  
He had been a fool to hope.  
  
A lifetime of experience, though, had told him he should take what he could get, so if the occasional dinner conversation was all, then he would make do as he had always done. At least Harry would be around for a short while, so maybe they would fall into the same patterns they had during the war; occasional conversation, quiet time spent in the same room reading, or working, or sometimes just waiting. They didn't have the Grimmauld place library anymore, but the kitchen would do quite nicely. And maybe if he could ever get the sitting room cleaned up... But a niggling voice in the back of his mind told him that no amount of cleaning up would do the trick, not without an apology.  
  
What could he say to make it right with Harry? Maybe if he --  
  
 _What_  was that racket? He shot up out of his chair and drew his wand in time to hear another crash and a muted "Bloody!"  
  
 _Harry!_  At least it wasn't his lunchtime threat making good. He ran out into the shop to find Harry getting up from the middle of the aisle that had been blasted, where...  
  
...there was shelving?  
  
Harry dusted off his backside and grinned sheepishly. "I tripped."  
  
Severus blinked. "So I see..."  
  
"I wish I hadn't. I wanted it to be a surprise."  
  
Why did the idiot boy keep grinning?  
  
"I went to Cuthbertson's and picked up your order --"  
  
"How did you get in without me knowing?"  
  
Harry rolled his eyes. "You're being obtuse. You know perfectly well I'm capable of a little stealth."  
  
And he did know, he was simply dumbfounded. Not that he was about to admit it to Harry, though, who was still standing there, grinning.  
  
Severus went to the shelves and ran a hand over them, not sensing any magic, noting the screws and nails and plain, wooden braces. They were all there, just the same as his old ones had been. Well, newer, and -- he put his weight on one of them -- definitely sturdier.  
  
Harry'd put his shelves together. For him. Harry had gone to Cuthbertson's, collected his order, brought it back and assembled it -- he turned around to find Harry following him close, like he had always done. "Why?"  
  
"I had to apologise to you somehow."  
  
Harry looked in his eyes, nervous and hopeful, and a great light flooded Severus, washing away the tightness and confusion, making him warm, making him smile, and suddenly he knew exactly what to say.  
  
"Harry... thank you."


	7. Chapter 7

_The room was mostly dark, and the only sound came from the quiet crackling of the fire and the occasional sigh from his companion on the couch. They were waiting, again, it seemed as though they were always waiting for something, and this time neither of them had the energy or the will to read while they passed the time. The boy's broom lay where he had left it on the low table in front of them, servicing kit open, the faint smell of polish rising from the rag tossed carelessly on top of it.  
  
The boy leaned into him where he lay, slumped in the corner of the couch, and made himself comfortable. Sometimes, rarely, he did this.  
  
But he had never before wrapped his arms around him, and before he knew it, the boy turned around and he was a boy no longer, he was a man, a man who was crawling up his front and leaning in, and placing his lips carefully over his own and tonguing them. And maybe this was a dream, but Severus would be damned if he was going to wake himself from it because the man was kissing his way down the front of him, and when had his clothes disappeared? He put a hand on the unruly hair below his chin and as his nipple peaked under the skilful hot lips and tongue, his cock rose and pushed into the stomach covering it, begging for the same sort of attention.  
  
The man on top of him knew, too, releasing the warmth of his lips, sliding down and grinning against the skin of Severus' stomach, sinking further to rest between his legs, and then the hot point of heat blossomed around the tip of his cock and sucked, and his hips bucked into it, again, again, his arse clenching, his cock throbbing, throbbing, swelling, spurting..._  
  
"Harry..." Severus came awake thrusting into the bedclothes, releasing into them, pulsing, two three, four... he drew in a great, shuddering breath and held it -- then let it go. Relief, afterglow, and the warm, sticky weight of his bedclothes pressed his rigid muscles loose and pressed them into the bed, and he really ought to clean up but his wand... any moment now his hand would reach his wand...  
  
When he woke again some time later it was still quite dark in his room, but the cawing of crows in the alley told him it was his regular time to wake. He couldn't remember his dream, but considering the way he was sticking to his sheets, it must have been rather amazing. He hadn't had a spontaneous orgasm in his sleep in more years than he'd care to count. Two cleaning charms and a few minutes later, he sat in the middle of the claw foot tub under the hot spray, humming.  
  
\---------------------------   
  
One, two, three, four -- Severus steadfastly ignored the clatter on the stairs -- five, six, seven, eight, nine. Add the powdered hedgehog spines and--  
  
"Oh, you're brewing?"  
  
\--stir widdershins thrice, "Obviously," one, two, three; reduce heat and --  
  
"I'll just leave you to it, then," said Harry.  
  
"I'm just about finished," --simmer for twelve minutes, cool and bottle.  
  
"There." Severus placed the large spoon in the sink, set the timer, and stretched his arms above his head. "How was your sleep?"  
  
Harry tapped the kettle and put tea things together. "Good. You?"  
  
"Rather nicer than normal." He hoped his face wasn't too red. "Breakfast is warming in the oven."  
  
"Thanks!" Harry fetched it to the table along with tea, slid onto the bench and set to.  
  
"What are your plans today?" asked Severus, dropping into the chair across from Harry.  
  
"Erm," Harry chewed hastily and swallowed, "I haven't got any, really. I think I'll just work on my broom."  
  
"Ah. I'll be brewing most of the morning. I haven't had so many orders for Glaberolia potion since I was a student."  
  
"Weren't you pretty young to be taking potions orders in 1974?"  
  
"I was in fifth year. It was a way to earn money." Severus leaned back in his chair. "The outbreak was epidemic in the school. Slughorn needed help. He knew my circumstances weren't ideal... after I helped him brew, he'd leave me in the lab and let me make more to sell."  
  
"I can't imagine him giving anything away like that."  
  
"Oh, I paid him," said Severus. "Five percent over the cost of ingredients and a couple boxes of crystallised pineapple," said Severus, shuddering, "but I managed to make a fair amount."  
  
"How did you know he liked -- wait. Don't tell me you were in the Slug Club." Harry sounded incredulous.  
  
"Harry, don't discount skill as a path to power. Slughorn didn't."  
  
"Nose down, Severus. And I'm not discounting skill," said Harry. "He asked Ginny to join his little group because of her bat-bogey hex. I just can't imagine you'd... well, want to be a part of something like that."  
  
"Why not?" asked Snape. "Harry, you've been inside my thoughts. You know enough --" He took a deep breath. "Why wouldn't I choose to spend time with powerful wizards? I was no one, otherwise. A half-blood in a House that prized purebloods." He took another bite. "And -- well, he wasn't awful to me."  
  
"I see."  
  
"Do you?" Severus scrubbed the rag over the counters with a little more force than was necessary. "The Slug Club might have afforded me some measure of respect in my own House, but it also brought me to the attention of Lucius Malfoy. Quickly."  
  
"Oh!"  
  
Severus looked up from the counter. Harry apparently realised the consequences of that association. Well, some of them.  
  
"God, I'm sorry." The young man seemed at a loss.  
  
"Don't be. I think even now, I still would have made the same choice." He hung the rag on the rail above the sink and washed his hands. "Not all the associations I made there were bad, you know."  
  
"Who else was in the Slug Club, then?" Harry broke off a piece of bread and chased it through the gravy. He didn't look up.  
  
"Your mother." Severus waited for Harry to say something.  
  
"Is that where --" Harry broke off. "Never mind. Who else?"  
  
"Malfoy, as you probably guessed. Amelia Bones. Bellatrix Black came once, but she wasn't invited back. I don't think you'd have known of any of the others." Severus pulled the teapot to him and summoned a cup.  
  
"I went once." Harry looked disgusted. "It was a waste of time, really."  
  
"Your association with him helped you save your friend Ronald, though, did it not?" Severus took a sip of tea.  
  
"How do you know that?" Harry levitated his plate to the sink and spelled the frog.  
  
Severus rolled his eyes. "What do you think we did in the staff room?"  
  
"Apparently, not marking," said Harry.  
  
"Not much of it, no." He gave a wry smile. "It was rather difficult to manage given that Slughorn never stopped nattering on about your amazing brewing skills." Severus frowned. "You can't imagine how irritating that was."  
  
Harry laughed. "Oh, I really can." He stood up.  
  
"The tale of Harry Potter and the bezoar was a nine days' wonder, though."  
  
"Do you need anything from upstairs? I'm going to get my broom," said Harry, heading for the door.  
  
Severus followed him with his eyes. "No, thank you."  
  
The sparkle left the room, but he didn't feel alone. Severus had never realised before how comforting it was to hear the sounds of another person puttering around the house. He looked out the window at the swirling snow storm, which had begun with the early morning light. It appeared to be getting worse.  
  
"Unusual weather for London, isn't it?" He heard Harry put his broom, books and notes on the kitchen table and sit down.  
  
"It is. I haven't seen a storm like this since Hogwarts," said Severus. He turned from the window and looked at Harry. Just then the timer chimed, and he put out the fire under the cauldron.  
  
Harry looked Severus in the eye. "You know, I learned about the bezoar from you," he said. "You get half the credit for saving Ron's life."  
  
Severus raised an eyebrow. "I hadn't thought you paid that much attention to me in class."  
  
"Oh, come off it," said Harry, "you knew very well I wasn't that bad a student."  
  
"Of course you weren't, but that doesn't mean you listened as much as you ought to have done," said Severus. He stared down at the table deep in thought, and then frowned. "You know, that was likely one of the weakest points in my cover."  
  
"What was?"  
  
Severus looked up at Harry. "Telling everyone and everything that moved how mediocre you were."  
  
"Oh, that."  
  
Harry didn't act as surprised as Severus thought he should be. "When did you figure it out?"  
  
"Not until after the ambush, thank God." Harry looked distinctly green. "I can't imagine what would have happened to you between then and when I killed him, had I known."  
  
"Thank Merlin for small favours."  
  
Harry uncorked his ink and opened his book.  
  
"Still making notes on spells?"  
  
"Yeah -- I think I'm up to about 200 now," said Harry, reading through the lists and noting down the ones he wanted. "Some of these are similar, and I have to keep looking back at my list to see if I still need it."  
  
"Well -- I've got at least an hour while the Glaberolia cools, and no one's coming out to shop in this mess. Would you like some help with those defensive spells you were telling me about the other day?"  
  
Harry's smile lit the room.  
  
\---------------------------   
  
Harry leaned back on the bench and stretched. Spell theory was tiresome at the best of times. "So, you're saying that setting distance limits for the Shield Charm won't work, then?"  
  
"That's correct. That would be like trying to rein it in, and the spell has nothing like a hook on the side of the caster that would allow you to control it. Think about it, Harry. What does the Shield Charm do?"  
  
"It blocks spells."  
  
"Exactly. Now what happens when a spell is cast at it?"  
  
"Well, it either hits and bounces back, or it hits and dissipates."  
  
"True. But in both cases, it hits. It  _pushes_  against the spell."  
  
"Well, yeah."  
  
"Once cast, how long does the Shield Charm last?"  
  
Harry knew, from far too much experience, the answer to this. "As long as there is a spell hitting it."  
  
"So, what conclusions can we draw from that?"  
  
"To continually protect a broom and rider, there has to be a spell continually aimed at the broom so that when the Shield Charm is cast, it doesn't dissipate," said Harry. "But Severus, I don't know any kind of self-sustaining spells that the Shield Charm would react to. The only one I know is the Windmill Wind Charm, but I don't think I want to add any kind of wind force to the broom."  
  
"Ah, but I do know of one. Several, in fact, but the one I'm thinking of will do nicely to set the boundary of your shield spell." Severus smiled. "You can cast a rigidity curse on it."  
  
"Oh. Oh!" The light dawned. "It doesn't stop until you cast the counter-curse, and it will hold the barrier of the spell in a steady spot!"  
  
"Exactly."  
  
"But can you make the rigidity curse permanent?"  
  
"Well, there are ways to modify it so that the counter-curse won't work unless it's modified in exactly the same way."  
  
"Which would make it difficult to nullify quickly, if at all." Harry looked up. "Severus, you're a genius!" He scribbled the spell at the bottom of his list.  
  
"Hrmph." Severus stood up and went to the cauldron full of Glaberolia, touching the side of it. "We haven't yet worked out a means of modifying the curse, yet."  
  
"So, how do we do that? Do we add a charm or another curse to it?"  
  
"No --" Severus stooped and pulled a large box out of a lower cupboard. "If we do that -- ugh, this is heavy -- if we do that, a simple  _Finite_  or counter curse will undo the modification, and the counter curse to the rigidity spell could then be cast." He lowered the box to the floor.  
  
"The only other thing I can think of to do is to add an arbitrary word to the spell, sort of like a password. Here, let me help." Harry got up and helped dig through the excelsior for the small glass bottles. "Is that sort of thing possible?"  
  
"It is, and that's exactly what we should do. I suggest picking an unusual word. Nothing Quidditch-related. There," said Severus, dusting off his hands, "that should do it."   
  
Harry shut the lid on the box and helped to slide it back into the cupboard. "So, it's nothing we really have to remember again, do we?"  
  
"Don't be ridiculous. What if you need to remove it during the course of a repair?" Severus added the little bottles to a wire rack. "You're keeping a notebook on the broom's creation; write it in there."  
  
"I'll help with the stoppers," Harry said. As he removed them, he lined them up neatly in a grid that corresponded to the position of its bottle in the wire rack.  
  
"You really were listening more than I thought," said Severus, the corner of his mouth raised. He selected a glass funnel from the cupboard above. "Could you please hand me the number two ladle from that drawer over there?"  
  
Severus pointed behind Harry, and Harry turned and opened the drawer. Of course, all the ladles in it were number twos. Taking a hint from the funnel, he chose the glass one. "Will this one do?"  
  
"Perfect," said Severus, who didn't bat an eyelash. So much for impressing him.  
  
"Does it have to be a word in a human language? Could I add something in Parseltongue?"  
  
Severus stopped ladling potion into the funnel and stared at Harry. "That's an excellent idea."  
  
"I've got it, then," said Harry, grinning. "I'll use Parseltongue for 'seeker.'"  
  
\---------------------------   
  
The fire crackled in the grate, the snow whispered against the panes of glass behind him, and Harry got quite a few notes taken before he heard the  _whumph_  of the floo and the sound of Severus applying the clothes brush to himself.  
  
"You're back?" said Harry, looking up from his notes as Severus came into the kitchen.  
  
"Harry, you're sitting in the dark." Severus lit the candles and lamps.  
  
"Oh -- I suppose I was. The fire was bright enough, though."  
  
"You'll ruin your eyes."  
  
"Not much chance of making things worse, really," said Harry, pointing to his glasses.  
  
"I suppose not."  
  
"I really didn't expect you back so soon."  
  
"It takes longer to pack orders than floo them." Severus went to the brewing counter to clean up from his boxing.  
  
"Oh. You look tired. Are you all right?"  
  
"I could say the same for you."  
  
"I could use a nap," said Harry. "At least I don't fall asleep over my books like I used to in school."  
  
"That's because you've chosen this work."  
  
Harry looked up at Severus, and found him smiling as he dusted the wood shavings off the counter. He hadn't thought of it that way before. "Yeah -- I guess I did. I like doing it."  
  
"Does barley soup suit for supper?" said Severus, crouching in front of the cold cabinet.  
  
"Yeah, thanks!" That did sound good. Severus pulled out a heavy pot and set about cutting up the beef. Harry bent to his book.  _For obvious reasons, invisibility charms must be dual state and include both broom and rider. Because there are two states of the charm, on and off, and two aspects, one each for animate and inanimate objects, there are four spell conditions that must be met--_  
  
"Did you like building houses?" Thock, thock, thock; the knife sounded on the cutting board.  
  
Harry got up from the bench and joined Severus at the counter. "I did," he answered, "but -- it's not the same." He leaned up against the counter for a moment and thought about just why that was. "Building houses was about making it up to everyone else. So many people lost --" He sighed. "It was atonement. This -- making this broom -- it's for me." He picked up a carrot and scraped the little roots off.  
  
Severus slid the pile of beef into the pot, selected an onion from the vegetables on the counter and began to peel it. "Being able to choose what you do makes the difference between happiness and mere existence."  
  
"Is that what you did during the war, then? Just exist?" said Harry. What a horrid way to live. He felt a pang of something for Severus. Pity, maybe. Sadness. He set the peeled carrot on the edge of the cutting board and took another one from the pile.  
  
"Mostly," said Severus. "There were some moments that were slightly better. And a great many more that were worse."  
  
"But -- you didn't despair. At least, I never saw it if you did."  
  
Severus turned and looked at Harry. "Where there is work, there is hope."  
  
Harry looked sideways at Severus and smiled. "Isn't that supposed to go 'where there is life, there is hope'?" Severus stood so close to him that the heat coming off him caused Harry's other side to break out in goose-pimples.  
  
"Life isn't a choice we can make, Harry. Death is, but not life." Severus resumed chopping the onion.  
  
Harry took a potato from the pile and began to peel it, smiling. "Then I had better choose my next career wisely, hadn't I?"  
  
"Yes, you had." And Severus smiled, too. "Have you given any thought to what you might want to do next?"  
  
"I have, but nothing appeals," said Harry. "Ron offered me a position in his department at the Ministry, but honestly, I couldn't think of anything more mind-numbing."  
  
"Harry -- why don't you keep on with brooms?"  
  
"What, seriously make them for a living?"  
  
"Yes. Why not?"  
  
"Well -- how? I've got a name, but it isn't for broom-making. And I can't imagine going out and selling them."  
  
"No -- that's not in your nature, is it?" said Severus. "But Harry -- why would you have to have a shop? Why not sell your brooms on consignment at Quality Quidditch?"  
  
Well -- that was an idea. A pretty good one, in fact. Actually, "Severus, that's a  _brilliant_  idea!"  
  
Severus smiled. "Thank you."  
  
Harry bounced on the balls of his feet. "It's Friday -- I don't want to wait all weekend... I'll go talk to the owner after supper."  
  
"Well, then," said Severus, "let us hurry."  
  
They resumed chopping with a will. "You know, it really is a terrific idea. No premises to keep up, no long shop hours -- and -- well, I see how much work you have to do here. After so long in construction, I can tell you with all certainty that I have no desire to work as hard and long in a day again, unless I have to. How can you stand it?"  
  
"Keeping the shop  _is_  a great deal of work, but like you with your broom, this is what  _I_  chose."  
  
"You're happy, then?" He wanted Severus to be. Harry was. He bloomed with it, was coloured in a fresh burst of it.  
  
"I --" Severus paused. "It's a quiet life, mostly. And despite the threats and the slow business, I am most assuredly the master of my fate. I am likely as happy as I could be."  
  
Whether there was one there or not, Harry heard a challenge. He put his knife down and turned to Severus, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Is that so?"  
  
Severus turned toward him, face flushed, looking confused, his hand opening and closing on the counter. "I -- think so."  
  
His eyes, those eyes pulled him, there was that gleam again, that joy, tugging at him -- Harry stepped forward, put his other hand on Severus' cheek and pressed their mouths together. Severus' lips moved soft and cool against his own; every nerve from Harry's groin to his throat seized, and his breath gasped out of him. He tipped his head up for another taste and Severus' legs trembled against his own. Severus' hand slid along the side of Harry's face until it held Harry's jaw, and tugged Harry's mouth up to meet Severus' hungry, devouring kiss. Harry felt Severus' other arm wrap around his waist and tug, and for a moment Harry felt the hard length of Severus pressed against his stomach, as his own erection pressed hard into Severus' thigh. And then Severus let go, but Harry could still feel the prints of Severus' fingers in the skin of his jaw, embedded there. Harry couldn't look away from the gleam in Severus' eyes.  
  
"I do believe I lied," said Severus, the corner of his mouth raised in a lopsided grin.  
  
Harry smiled. "How so?"  
  
"I'm certain I'm happy."


	8. Chapter 8

  
"Harry!" Severus shouted up the stairs, but didn't get an answer. "POTTER!" Still nothing. He took his wand out of his pocket and sent his patronus up.  
  
Seven seconds later, a door slammed open and thunder rolled along the upstairs hallway. Two giant thuds in the stairwell later, and Harry tore through the door bare-chested, holding his trousers up with one hand and his wand in front of him in the other.  
  
"What?! What's the matter?" His eyes darted wildly around the sitting room --  
  
"Mrs. Weasley is --"  
  
"Hermione!" Harry ran to the fireplace and fell on his knees at the hearth. "Is everything okay? What's the matter?"  
  
Hermione was laughing.  
  
"I suppose I should have just come up and got you," said Severus.  
  
"What--" said Harry. "Severus! You bastard! You bloody bastard! I thought --" Harry's bare chest heaved and his skin glowed gold in the firelight; Severus scratched his palms and flushed. He hoped it wasn't visible in the dim light of the fire.  
  
"I'm sorry," said Hermione, getting her laughter under control. "Harry, it's my fault!"  
  
Harry shot a nasty look back at Severus anyway.  
  
"I need to get back to the kids fairly quickly, but I wanted to tell you in person. Ron and I can't go out with you tonight -- Jane and Crispin have both come down with Dragon Pox."  
  
"Oh no!" Harry appeared to have forgotten about Severus completely. "Are they all right? Is there anything I can do?"  
  
"Well, no, and they'll be fine, but I thought if I could just get a couple bottles of Glaberolia potion from Severus, it would spare us all a long wait at St. Mungo's."  
  
Severus moved toward the kitchen. "I've got a fresh batch just ready to bottle -- if you can wait another moment, I'll get them for you."  
  
"Oh, thank you! I'm very grateful. Wait!" She ducked out for a moment, then came right back, arm extended. "Would you please put it in these? They're clean, and we've about a hundred empties we haven't turned in yet."  
  
"It's my pleasure." He stepped into the kitchen and was pleased to discover, as he pulled the stoppers out of the bottles, that he could still hear their conversation quite clearly.  
  
"So -- have you told him, yet?" she asked.  
  
"Well -- not in so many words," said Harry. "I think by the sixth or seventh kiss, though, he got the idea."  
  
"Good for you!" She giggled. "So -- is it still the eyes? What was it that you saw in them?" She sounded genuinely curious.  
  
"Nothing I ever expected." Harry's voice got soft, soft enough that Severus stopped what he was doing so he could hear. "Joy, Hermione. I saw joy. The man's been abused and attacked and suffered things that would kill most anyone else, but still, he has joy."  
  
"Ah, so that's what's laid you low."  
  
"I wish I had a tenth of his strength. Or maybe it's cussedness." They laughed.  
  
Then they were quiet for some time; Severus pulled out the glass funnel and ladle, and quickly filled the bottles. He must be slipping if people could read him like that.  
  
But no, only Harry had seen it. Just Harry.  
  
"So -- do you think it's going to go anywhere?"  
  
"God, I hope so." Harry's voice paused. "He knows me, you know? He's a bit of home. We've been talking... I understand him far better than I did in the war."  
  
Altogether too well, if he could read Severus as well as he'd done. But maybe that wasn't such a horrible thing. He'd never been anyone's home before, except maybe for his mother. A great big blooming thing swelled in his chest; he felt expanded, full of fresh air, light, the same as he did when he'd caught Harry staring, the first day he was here.  
  
So, this was joy, was it?  
  
"He's much different, now, isn't he?" She sounded hopeful.  
  
"Maybe. Some. Not so much," said Harry. "Mostly, I think, I'm different. You were right; I'm older. I can appreciate him far more than I used to."  
  
"Perspective is a lovesome thing."  
  
"Well, it's certainly laid low any residual hate and anger I had." Harry laughed. "Hermione, he kisses like a dream."  
  
Dear, sweet Merlin, what was he telling  _her_  that for?   
  
She sighed. "It sounds lovely. So... should I mention anything to Ron yet?"  
  
"Sure. Just petrify him, first, so you have a chance to explain everything. I don't relish having to fight him off Severus." They both laughed; Severus stoppered the bottles and edged open the swinging door to the sitting room with his hinder end.  
  
"Here you are, Mrs. Weasley." He handed the bottles back to her.  
  
"Oh, thank y-" Another head appeared in the fire next to Mrs. Weasley's.  
  
"Severus? Are you th-- oh, hello Hermione!"  
  
"Minerva! How wonderful to see you! How was your Christmas?"  
  
Arms came into view above the grate, and they hugged each other. "Dreadful. We're overrun with Dragon Pox. So, what are you doing in Severus' grate? Is everything okay?"  
  
"Well, the kids are down with Dragon Pox. Ron and I were going to go out with Harry tonight, but that's off until I can get some potion down them."  
  
"It's epidemic," said Minerva. "Fortunately, we've got a good supply of it," she said, turning her attention out of the grate, "don't we, Severus? Ah! Mr. Potter! You're here? Back for the holidays, then?"  
  
"Back for good, actually," said Harry. "Just got in Christmas."  
  
"Don't tell me you've come down with Dragon Pox, too?"  
  
Harry looked confused; Severus stepped in. "He's renting my spare room for the time being, Minerva. So, I suppose you called for a reason?"  
  
"Well, it's just the same. I feel horrible about it, but we're canceling the New Year's staff party, too -- too many of the children are sick right now. We've farmed the unattached teachers out to each house to help the heads take care of them, and no one feels like celebrating tonight."  
  
"Believe me, I have no desire to be exposed," said Severus. "I'd rather not have to isolate myself from my business for three days."  
  
"Certainly not," said Minerva. "We're depending upon you to make up our Glaberolia stock; Poppy's been too busy to brew lately, and we shipped Professor Firkin off to St. Mungo's with it yesterday, so no potions from him."  
  
"I've most of your order ready to go," said Severus, "I just have to bottle the last of it. I'll send it along this afternoon to Pomfrey's floo."  
  
"Very well, then; I'll inform her," said Minerva. "Thank you, Severus. I'm sorry we can't get together tonight, but we'll be sure to invite you to the Valentine's Day ball." Her eyes danced.  
  
He raised an eyebrow. "You wouldn't dare."  
  
"Oh, you wouldn't show up anyway, and you know it, you old curmudgeon."  
  
Severus laughed. "Let me know if you need anything more for your stores."  
  
"I shall. Goodbye, Mr. Potter; Hermione, give my best to Mr. Weasley."  
  
"I shall, Minerva."  
  
McGonagall blinked out, and the young Mrs. Weasley said, "I should be getting back to the kids, too. Ron's got Edward at mum's; likely he wouldn't come down with it, but just to be safe..."  
  
"Tell Crispin and Jane they get rides on the new broom next week."  
  
"Oh! It'll be done that soon?"  
  
"Severus has been helping me with spell development," said Harry, "and I'm ready to cast."  
  
She turned a bright smile on him and Severus felt his face heat.  
  
"That's wonderful! I'll be sure to tell the kids. Bye, Harry! Thank you, Professor!"  
  
"You're most welcome."  
  
She winked out, too, and the fire died down to glowing coals.  
  
"Harry --" Severus began, "I do apologise for calling you down with--"  
  
"Never mind. I overreacted; I'm sorry, too." He looked down at his chest. "I'd better get some more clothes on."  
  
"Oh, no need on my account," said Severus, turning quickly away. "Breakfast's on the stove when you're ready."  
  
\---------------------------   
  
"When does Quality Quidditch Supplies want your first brooms?" Severus speared a kipper on his fork.  
  
"I told them I don't have a completed model quite yet, but they didn't care -- they said to bring them along when they're ready as they're sure to have buyers." Harry drained his cup. "Your tea is smashing, did you know? I've got raw supplies for two more brooms in my work case, after the first is completed. And I'm keeping the first one."  
  
"Thank you." Severus raised his cup in salute. "Trading on your name then, are they?" He poured a bit more for Harry, then himself.  
  
"Well, it'd be hard not to. Besides, it'll be nice to be known for something I've done myself."  
  
Severus stared at him. "As if killing the Dark Lord weren't enough."  
  
"Ha. You know very well I didn't  _choose_  that," said Harry, smiling and pointing at him with his fork.  
  
Severus smiled. "Fair enough."  
  
"So, what are your plans today?" asked Harry.  
  
"I shall be very busy behind the counter. This time of year, people line up for Bubbly potion, Confetti potion, and mistletoe. And may I warn you not to venture into Aisle Five today, as I have a temporary barrier around the puffapods. I shall fetch personally any that people want, but you will find yourself repelled rather violently if you go about a third of the way down."  
  
"Thanks for that," said Harry, looking slightly alarmed. "Why the puffapods?"  
  
"There was a most unfortunate accident last year. A young gentleman looking to shower his lady friend with flowers at the midnight hour accidentally tripped headfirst into the shelf, knocking my entire stock on the floor. When he came to, he was suffocating under four feet of blooms and I was out fifty Galleons."  
  
"You should have made him pay for them!"  
  
Severus sighed and set his teacup down. "I didn't want to cause a hassle and risk losing any more business. Besides, a rumour about the pile of flowers spread fairly quickly, and everyone up and down the alley came by to look at them and take a few. I managed to sell a few extra potions out of it."  
  
"Do you actually sell much Bubbly potion, then? Fred and George sell it, I know, and pretty cheaply, too." Harry made a face. "They made me test it last Christmas. I was blowing bubbles for hours."  
  
"Ah, yes. But their formulation is missing one key ingredient."  
  
"What's that?"  
  
"Alcohol."  
  
\---------------------------   
  
Harry spent a good number of the daylight hours after breakfast in the kitchen casting spells from his list on the Mercury, pausing only once to slip through the Cauldron into London and buy a couple of bottles of Muggle champagne. Severus came back briefly for a hasty sandwich and some tea around lunch time, and took it back with him into the shop. It was getting dark enough to light the candles and lamps when Harry decided to stop for the evening and take his work upstairs to his room.   
  
Harry was sure Severus must be awfully tired by now. He came down to the kitchen and turned on the WWN.  _\--thur Robinson and the Robinsounds, swinging us through to the midnight hour. Stay tuned for the Big Band stylings of Balthazar Barbary after this important message from our sponsor. "I'VE GOT THE HAIR, BUT WHAT TO WEAR?" "NEVER FEAR, MADAME MALKIN'S GOT YOUR GEAR! FROM EVERYDAY DUDS TO FORMAL WEAR, SHOES, BOOTS AND UNDERWEAR. CONVENIENT LOCATIONS ON THE CONTINENT AND ON THE ISLE, MADAME MALKIN'S WILL GET YOU WHERE YOU'RE GOING, IN STYLE!" And now the classic "Bubbles in your Bubbly", by Balthazar Barbary and his band._  
  
A chorus of saxophones and clarinets wound up for a blow. Harry opened the cold cabinet and took stock. There was brisket and enough potatoes for a mash, but no greens. He found plenty of carrots in a sack behind the turnip pickle, though, and no shortage of butter and cream. Roast beef it was, then.  
  
Harry set about flouring and browning the meat, and still the door bell went off at intervals. He put the roast in the oven and the carrots in the sink, got a tall glass of water, and took it out front. Severus was explaining the use of Glaberolia to a harried, middle-aged lady. Harry set the water on the counter at his elbow, and was aware of several pair of eyes on him as he went back to the kitchen. Oh God, it wouldn't take long for  _this_  to make it into the papers.  
  
Brown sugar, brown sugar, brown sugar... Harry found some in a canister next to the flour. He melted a good-sized chunk of butter over a low heat and added a great heap of brown sugar and a small cup of water, then stirred in chunks of carrot and covered it. The age-old choral piece "New Year's Charm" by the Warlock Society struck up on the WWN; Harry whistled, wandering around the melody and harmony as he peeled potatoes.  
  
He had just finished setting the table and was almost ready to duck into the shop and close the shutters himself when he realised he had no good glasses for the champagne. He rummaged around the cupboards until he found a couple of ancient crystal wine goblets, spelled the dust off them, and set one at each place. Then he reached into the cold cabinet for one of the bottles of champagne. He'd just about got the cork out when he heard a noise behind him. He swung around, bottle in hand, and froze -- Severus stood there in the doorway, holding onto the empty water glass, watching him.  
  
The cork shot out of the bottle. Foam coursed over his fingers in a small, white river.  
  
Severus' eyebrows went up and a smile danced in his eyes.  
  
"Well, you startled me!" said Harry.  
  
The smile curved around to Severus' mouth, and Harry felt it tug the corners of his own mouth.  
  
"Harry." Severus' voice was rough and low. He looked at the table, puffapod blooms floating in a dish surrounded by candles, plates and cutlery laid out just so. "For us?"  
  
Harry's heart beat double-time in his chest at the sound of that voice, the warmth in him concentrating in his stomach and spreading outward like the rays of the sun. "Yes," he said, swallowing.  
  
Harry watched Severus come to him, melted into the hands that came up to cup his face. And then Harry was kissing Severus, breathlessly kissing, the champagne bottle crushed cold against his chest and his mouth locked to Severus'. His eyes fell helplessly shut. The hands on his cheeks moved back to cradle his head, and he was lost, falling, drowning under the slow, stroking tongue. His knees trembled. Leaning back against the counter, he let himself be held and consumed. Some measureless time later, Severus released his mouth.  
  
"Ohhh..." he breathed. Harry felt the bottle being pulled from his hands. He opened his eyes as Severus' arms surrounded him once again, enfolding him. The hard chest pressing against his own warmed the chill from his skin, warmed his bones, his heart. Harry rested his head against Severus' chest and listened to his heart beat; it was a strong, quiet welcome.  
  
"Is dinner ready yet?" Severus' voice rumbled deep, the vibrations finding their harmonics in the subtle waves of Harry's lust. His erection rose to full strength.  
  
"Mmm...."  
  
Severus took him by the arms and stepped backward, the cool draft between them sending shivers over Harry's skin. He looked at Severus, whose mouth was raised at the corner in half a smile.  
  
"All right?" Severus asked.  
  
"Yeah... more than all right," said Harry. "Did you ask me something?"  
  
Severus smiled all the way. "Is dinner ready yet?"  
  
"Oh! Yes," said Harry, coming part-way back to earth. He looked around the kitchen, still dazed. Serving dishes. He needed serving dishes.  
  
"Second cupboard from the left."  
  
"What? Oh." Harry really was rattled; he tried to pull himself together as he dished up the potatoes and carrots  
  
Severus arranged them on the table without a word.  
  
Harry transferred the roast to a carving board and handed that to Severus, too, then made gravy from the drippings; a bizarre wave of gratitude rushed over him for the hours he had been forced to assist Aunt Petunia in the kitchen. He set the gravy boat on the table and sat down.  
  
"Accio champagne." Severus held up his glass, and it took a moment before Harry realised Severus was waiting for him to do the same thing. Harry held his up, too, glad to find that his hand was not as unsteady as he feared it might be.  
  
"To friends," said Severus.  
  
"To coming home," said Harry, which made Severus blush an intriguing shade of pink. He hadn't thought he could get any harder, but apparently he was wrong about that. His attention span fractionated into moment-sized bites, which made him aware of only one small thing at a time: his aching arousal, the sharp tang of the champagne in his mouth, the bubbles flurrying upward in his glass, the sudden heat of the hand laid on top of his own, steadying the glass as he lowered it to the table.  
  
"Harry, are you really all right?"  
  
He took a deep breath, forced himself to look across into Severus' eyes, and said "Yes. Shall I serve?"  
  
Those gleaming black eyes continued to examine him, but finally Severus removed his hand and picked up his plate. "Please do."  
  
When he had served them both, he was chagrined to find that he had nothing of substance to say, so he stuffed his mouth with a large bite of roast and chewed it to mash in the hopes that Severus would start the conversation first. But he didn't. Of course, he didn't. It wasn't until Harry pushed back the ruins of his meal and took a very large sip of champagne that Severus decided to say anything at all.  
  
"Tell me, Harry, how did you manage to obtain the puffapods?"  
  
Harry laughed so hard he began to choke. Severus lifted his wand, and suddenly Harry's mouth and throat were completely empty of everything, which made him laugh even more. He finally looked up and saw a watery Severus frowning at him. Blinking his eyes several times, he pulled himself together. He was pleased to note that he'd laughed the hot, trembling lust right out of himself, and said, "I thought we'd already established I'm capable of a little stealth?"  
  
"Hrmph. I suppose that's why I found an extra Galleon twelve and two in my till this evening?"  
  
"Quite possibly," said Harry, but Severus was now frowning down at the bite of roast he was chasing through the gravy. "What, did I give you the wrong amount?"  
  
"No, apparently addition is something else you're capable of."  
  
Harry broke out into another peal of laughter.  
  
"You'd be surprised, Severus," he said when he recovered, "at just how many things I'm capable of."  
  
Dear God, Harry wondered, did Severus know what kind of colours he could turn? Harry found himself breathing rather quickly as Severus put his fork down, bite untouched, and said, "Perhaps you'd like to enlighten me?"  
  
They stared at each other for a long moment, both of their breathing a little faster, a little more ragged than normal. If that wasn't an invitation to proceed... but as much as Harry wanted to leap on the man and show him what joy  _really_  meant, he also wanted to spend time fitting the pieces together -- what he knew of Severus during the war, what he knew of him now, and how much more there was to know, now that he had the perspective of relative peace and enough years to understand it all.  
  
"Maybe in a little while," he said. "We've got all night." He barely refrained from licking his lips; if he'd done it, they'd likely be rolling on the floor within the minute, turning him into a molten ball of lust and a base liar at once. But he didn't want that. Or, at least, not yet.  
  
He took a deep breath, looked at their glasses and decided that they both could use a refill. He poured out the last of the bottle. Severus put the dishes in the sink and made the little frog belch out its brush.   
  
"Where did you get that thing?" asked Harry.  
  
"What, the frog?" Severus smiled and sat back down. "Molly Weasley gave it to me when I bought this place. It was a house-warming gift."  
  
"She's always doing things like that," said Harry. "When she found out I was moving my crew to Bombay, she bought me " _The Pocket Guide to Comfort Spells_." I learned all sorts of heavy-duty cooling charms from it. Did you know there's a spell to air-condition your underpants?"  
  
Severus snorted. "I imagine you used that one hourly."  
  
"What, are you accusing me of having hot pants?"  
  
Severus gave him the once over, what he could see of him. "As you said, there's plenty of time for discovery." The gleam was back in his eye.  
  
Harry smiled. "Well, I used it most days, that's for sure. Actually, I wish I'd had it during the war. They had all sorts of goodies in there..."  
  
"I could have done with a hot tea spell on several occasions," said Severus.  
  
"There was a hot water charm. It produced about a sink full." Harry thought back to all the times they'd been stuck with each other, waiting it out together, ready to do something,  _anything_ , but waiting for a signal, the right time, whatever it was that held them in check. "We spent a lot of time together, then, didn't we?"  
  
Severus took a sip of his champagne. "We did."  
  
"I used to hate that, in the beginning," Harry admitted, with not a little chagrin.  
  
"As did I," said Severus. "But that changed rather quickly."  
  
Harry found that surprising. "Why? When?"  
  
"When we first came together -- after -- I fully expected you to try and kill me," said Severus looking steadfastly at the bubbles rising in his glass. "I -- when you didn't -- I began to realise you were not the impulsive child I had known. I was forced to recognise that you were quite capable of subduing your feelings for the greater good."  
  
"I don't know," said Harry. He ran a finger along the edge of his glass. "I felt like killing you. The evidence was overwhelming in your favour, but I don't think I've ever had a more difficult time forgiving someone."  
  
"Perhaps it's a good thing we never spoke of it, then."  
  
"You're probably right about that."  
  
They sat in silence for a short time. The WWN tinkled and buzzed a lively dance tune in the background. Harry imagined a ball room with people dancing in it, and wondered if there were any places like that in the wizarding world, clubs where people could go and listen to music and dance. Even for as long as he'd lived in it, there were still so many things he didn't know about the wizarding world....  
  
"Harry -- for what it's worth, I am sorry."  
  
Harry gave him a long, slow look. "If anything, I should apologise to you," he said. "I'd never stopped to consider what it might have done to you to have to do something like that."  
  
"I used to think that you had -- that that was what had stayed your hand."  
  
Harry let out a bark of laughter, but stopped when Severus lifted his gaze and gave him such a look of pain that Harry was immediately contrite. "No," he said, "it's not that it's funny, or anything, but you know what stayed my hand? It was a message from Dumbledore, to me."  
  
Harry considered how to tell Severus about it without causing him any more hurt. Dumbledore had shown Harry some pretty personal things about Severus in order to convince Harry of Severus' innocence. "There was the Pensieve testimony that you saw in court, you remember," Harry started. "But there were other memories in the Pensieve that were not allowed as testimony. One of them was a message from Dumbledore to me. In the memory, he was standing in front of a mirror, with a Pensieve." Harry paused again for a moment. "Severus, he told me -- he showed me -- why he trusted you."  
  
Severus blanched.  
  
"I'm sorry," said Harry. "I didn't know. And you know I would have said something if I had known. She was my mother -- I don't think I could have accepted that you --"  
  
"-- I did," Severus interrupted, his voice rusty. "I did love her. She was the only woman I ever felt any sort of -- attraction to. She must have understood that -- she knew about the boys I'd been with. I couldn't blame her for her choice, and even afterward, I still loved her...."  
  
"I saw Dumbledore's memory of the Legilimency he cast on you. The full one, not the one shown to the Ministry that cleared you. Even so, I could barely accept it. I wanted to tear you limb from limb. I thought you were the most presumptuous piece of work. But I understood completely why he trusted you, and I did, too, after that," said Harry. "Completely."  
  
"I see."  
  
"Severus, I don't remember any of my family that loved me," he said. "My Aunt's family sure didn't. I know the value of love. What I found out -- it didn't make me like you more. It didn't make me stop thinking you were the world's biggest git. If anything, the opposite. It certainly didn't make me forgive you. But -- it did make me trust you."  
  
"Please tell me no one else saw it," said Severus. "Don't get me wrong," he was quick to add, "I'm not embarrassed. I just wouldn't want her reputation to suffer."  
  
Harry gave him a long, lingering look. "I can't promise you no one's seen it," he said. "McGonagall might have -- she's the one who showed it to me. I don't know if anyone saw them before she had. When I was done viewing it, I bottled it up and took it with me; Dumbledore requested that I do it." Harry released a short, unpleasant laugh. "I almost didn't. He asked that I take it with me, and appealed to your dignity. I was ready to leave it behind; I didn't think you had any."  
  
"I suppose I should be thankful."  
  
"Of course you shouldn't." Harry frowned. "I may have been upset about your feelings for my mother and I may not have cared a fig for your dignity, but obviously the Headmaster had. Severus, for years he'd asked me to trust him where you were concerned, and for years, I hadn't. He knew that. That's why he left the memory to me, even though he knew what it might do to you. That he'd trust  _me_ , that he'd consider it important enough to risk your dignity after years of keeping it secret just so I could understand, well. I couldn't abuse his trust.  
  
"It took a long time for me to be thankful I'd finally listened to him about you."  
  
Severus looked like he had been holding his breath. "What finally turned the tide?"  
  
"I don't know. Wait, I do, maybe," he said. "I think it might have been during that horrible wait in Trowbridge. You were a mess. I was ready to hex you until it finally became clear to me you were scared." Harry sipped his champagne. "I couldn't ever remember you being scared before. But I thought, of course you must have been, many times. You'd just never let on. It made me realise the kind of stress you were under, just how much of it you had, and what it had taken from you. I -- I got mad. It was horribly unfair. I just -- I mean, I didn't like you, but... I didn't want anything more taken away from you."  
  
They were quiet for a moment; Severus looked stunned. "At least it wasn't pity."  
  
"No, it was anger more than anything else," said Harry. "If I'd liked you more at the time, it might have been."  
  
Severus shuddered. "Thank Merlin for small favours."  
  
"After we'd got out of there and gone back to Grimmauld Place, I felt more comfortable with you."  
  
"You were certainly less reticent afterward."  
  
"So were you," said Harry. He took another sip and set his glass down, his thumb worrying the base of it for a long moment.  
  
"So, the Slug Club. Is that where you met my mum?" Harry asked.  
  
"Yes." He smiled. "Your mother was a wit, with a very sharp tongue," said Severus. "She was the only person who could make me laugh." He smiled. "After awhile, we started studying potions together. She was an exceptional brewer."  
  
"That image of you is so hard to reconcile with the Snape I knew in school," said Harry.  
  
"Ah. That's because I had already turned bitter may years previously. Eleven years, to be precise."  
  
"So that's why you yelled so often."  
  
"One of reasons, perhaps. It never helped," he said. "In fact, I felt horrible for yelling at you as much as I had at Trowbridge," said Severus, "even though I was certain you had deserved it. But it seemed apparent, afterward, that you had forgiven me, though you never said as much. I thought of you more as a man, after that, instead of a boy." Severus smiled. "I found you somewhat less irritating."  
  
Harry smiled. "So what made you buy this place? Ron told me you'd bought a shop -- I just didn't realise it was Slug & Jiggers."  
  
"Minerva offered me Defence or Potions, whichever I wanted, but the thought of teaching again -- well."  
  
Harry laughed.  
  
"I happened to stop in at Slug & Jiggers for some syrup of hellebore," said Severus, "and Jigger told me first thing I'd got to the counter that he was retiring and asked me if I wanted to buy his place. We'd known each other for quite awhile. I'd always ordered the school's stock from him as well as my personal potions supplies, and we were in communication every year about the content of that year's student potions kits." Severus took a sip of wine. "His books were in meticulous order, and the more I thought about it, the more I realised that this would be a perfect position for me. We closed that same day, and I took over the following Monday."  
  
"And it's been heaven ever since," said Harry.  
  
"Heaven with a side of nastiness."  
  
"Spicy, that."  
  
Severus harrumphed. "Indeed."  
  
They both smiled.  
  
The announcer rambled on the wireless. Harry heard him proclaim the 11 o'clock hour. Harry was surprised to find they'd been talking that long. He got up and opened the remaining bottle of champagne. "Ready for more?"  
  
Severus drained the last bit from his glass. "I am."  
  
Harry poured, and set the bottle between them. He plucked a puffapod bloom out of the bowl and twirled the short stem in his fingers. He hadn't felt this comfortable in -- well, ever. The snow continued to swirl in the lamplight just outside the window, hissing on the glass. The kitchen still held the warm smells of dinner. He was well-fed, slightly drunk and very, very relaxed. He looked at Severus. "You look relaxed, too."  
  
"I am relaxed."  
  
"I don't think I've ever seen you relaxed, before." Harry smiled.  
  
"I've learned how to do a lot of new things since the end of the war." Severus smiled back.  
  
"I guess you have," said Harry. Then, frankly, "I'm glad you have."  
  
Severus stared at him for a long moment, a high spot of colour on each cheek. "You have changed, haven't you?"  
  
Severus' expression was unreadable, but Harry knew he'd stirred deep waters. His blood raced hot; he took a sip of champagne to cool it as he got up from the bench, walked around the table, and stood next to Severus' chair. Severus turned to face him, and Harry offered him his hand.   
  
"I'd like to show you just how much," said Harry.  
  
Severus drew in a sharp breath; Harry tugged. Severus rose from his chair straight into Harry's embrace, and together they stumbled up the stairs.


	9. Chapter 9

Halfway up the stairs Severus' shirt was halfway off; he lost it altogether as they reached the landing, but that was a good thing as far as he was concerned because it left both his hands free for ripping Harry's off. Two steps later, his boots tumbled to a stop against the wall next to Harry's. Then the socks, and so what if he stepped on his own toes doing it? Next, it was Harry's belt buckle, but by that time they'd reached Harry's door. They broke apart at the mouth for the time it took them to fall through the door and land on their knees, heedless of the door banging against the wall, and then his tongue was searching, reaching the hot, sweet taste of Harry's once more. Their arms tangled together in front of them, unfastening each other's trouser buttons and peeling back their flies, and that first trembling hot touch of Harry's hand plunging into his smalls and engulfing his cock threatened to undo him right where he knelt.  
  
Dear, sweet Merlin, how long had it been? Years. Since before the war. When his hand dipped below the elastic band of Harry's pants, the humid, velvet shape of him was both familiar and strange. Nothing he'd touched in so very long had felt this alive and perfect in his hand; he gripped it gently, stripped it up and down, felt it thrust into his fist and he matched the movement, pushing his own cock hard into Harry's fist, which pulled away --  
  
"Harry..." he moaned, and he opened his eyes to find Harry sitting back, pulling, struggling with Severus' trousers, too drunk on lust to have the strength to tug them down and off on his own. Severus kicked his trousers off and set to work on Harry's. He pulled Harry up and stripped his trousers down in one, smooth motion, stepping into the middle of them and walking Harry backward out of them, continuing until they hit the bed and tumbled over into it.  
  
Harry was hot. The hard, wild young man beneath him burned a line down the front of Severus from chest to toes. His cock throbbed in time with the beating of his heart, trapped in the smooth crease between Harry's legs. He rested his weight on his elbows as Harry pulled his arms out from beneath him and wrapped them around his neck, and then he let himself be pulled down, down to drown himself in Harry's mouth once more.  
  
One swipe of his tongue across Harry's lips and Harry shuddered beneath him and moaned; the vibration thrilled through Severus like fire in tinder. He gasped into Harry's mouth as Harry thrust his hard length into Severus' stomach and held himself there, as though the pressure and heat, the weight of Severus could anchor him forever and keep him from flying apart.  
  
He wanted this boy, this man, he wanted him so badly in this moment that he cried out into Harry's mouth and bit down on his lower lip, sucking it into his mouth and laving it with his tongue in a long, slow stroke, again, again, and Harry's hips began to thrust in time with it, each thrust pushing a groan out of Severus and into Harry's mouth. Harry cried out beneath him, thrusting even harder against his stomach, and the rhythm caught him up and caused the liquid heat to pool up in his belly and press against the walls of his restraint, pushing, pushing, pressuring him to let go, and at the hoarse shout and first spurt of slickness beneath him, the dam broke; he thrust his release between the fallen columns of Harry's thighs, pulsing until the unbearable pressure dispersed and the heat flooded his body, his mind, his soul. He had just enough presence of mind to fall to the side of Harry, his arm and leg draped over the panting body beneath him, his head pillowed on Harry's strong, smooth shoulder, and think "home, I'm home" before he lost control of his mind and fell into a stupor.  
  
\---------------------------   
  
Harry lay half pinned beneath Severus, just as loath to move as Severus himself appeared to be. He barely hung on to the present, letting his mind dart here and there, visiting wonder, staying awhile at surprise, ending up at "home, I'm home," which Severus had uttered as he sank down into Harry's shoulder.  
  
Home. Well, this was his, for now -- a warm, welcome weight on top and a soft bed below. For the first time in years he felt safe. When was the last time... during the war, maybe? But that didn't make sense. He remembered nothing but an abiding apprehension during the war, which blossomed into full-fledged terror at irregular intervals. But no, there was one night in front of the fire at Grimmauld Place, deep into the night of a long day of waiting. He had been polishing his broom, but had left off and leant back into the couch, exhausted, falling sideways to rest on the arm of the man next to him, who grunted in surprise but didn't ask him to move. For that moment, then, yes, he felt safe. Severus was safe. He drifted now as he did then, moving in and out of shapeless dreams, detached from himself, floating.  
  
He came awake some time later, chilled to discomfort on the parts of him not covered by Severus' warm body. The arm under Severus' head had fallen asleep; they must have slept like that for quite awhile.  
  
"Severus," he said, wrapping his free arm around Severus' shoulders and easing his arm out from underneath his head.  
  
"Hmnnn," said Severus, not moving.  
  
"Let's get under the covers," he said, sitting up. "I'm freezing."  
  
An eye opened and looked around, got no farther than Harry's chin and closed again. A crease appeared between Severus' eyebrows. "Mmf."  
  
Harry couldn't tell if that were an affirmative noise or not until Severus pulled his knees in and levered himself up; Harry hastily moved the covers and they crawled underneath them, collapsing together in the middle of the bed.  
  
"Hot. You're hot," said Severus when they had settled themselves, his arm around Harry's shoulders. Harry snuggled into the crook of his arm with his leg thrown over Severus' thighs.  
  
"Mmm. So are you."  
  
"Sleep more?"  
  
Harry yawned, already drifting off again, though he was still shivering. "Yeah. Happy New Year, Severus."  
  
"Happy New Year, Harry."  
  
Harry fell asleep smiling.  
  
Some time later in the night, Harry woke in a sweat and threw off the covers, then woke still later after shivering fit to shake himself apart, scrabbling for the blankets. He got them pulled back up and realised his head was aching badly, and his body, too. Did he have  _that_  much to drink last night? Severus lay on his side facing Harry, so Harry backed himself into the warm body behind him, and shivered until the heat soaked into him again and lulled him back to sleep.  
  
He woke in the daylight, shivering despite the warm body pressed into his back and the arm wrapped around him slowly stroking his cock. Something wasn't right; he wasn't getting hard. In fact, the stroking did nothing more than cause him to feel vaguely sick to his stomach.  
  
"Severus?" His voice came out in a croak. He wasn't hung over, he was getting sick!  
  
"Harry?" The stroking stopped, and Severus hoisted himself up on an elbow and looked down at Harry. Harry leant back and looked up at him; Severus was rather green.  
  
"Dear, sweet Merlin." Severus backed away.  
  
"Severus -- what is it?"  
  
"Unless I am very much mistaken, you've contracted Dragon Pox!"  
  
"What?!" Harry whipped his arm out from under the covers and took a look. "Ah, no!" He was covered in tiny red spots that smoked and flamed. He fairly flew out of bed, checking to see if the sheets were on fire.  
  
"You won't cause a fire, never fear," said Severus, "the pox just appear to be aflame, they aren't really. Though the way they'll make you itch, it'll certainly feel as though they are."  
  
"But I don't itch," said Harry.  
  
"You don't  _yet_ ," replied Severus. "You will in a few hours."  
  
"Bugger."  
  
"As you say," said Severus, hauling himself out of bed, sporting an erection that Harry unfortunately craved with nothing more than his brain. "I'm going to get dressed and make breakfast."  
  
"I'm sorry," said Harry, gesturing at Severus' cock.  
  
"Not as much as I am," said Severus, gathering up his trousers and walking out the door.  
  
Harry felt doubly crap. He shivered violently and decided that dressing was of paramount importance; he'd try and soothe Severus' feelings later. He found his wand on the floor and turned the fire into as much of an inferno as he dared. He dove into a T-shirt and the warmest pullover he had, donned a thick pair of socks and a pair of Muggle jeans. He hadn't worn a robe inside in days, but he had a nice, new winter-weight one from the twins -- he rummaged in his trunk and threw it over himself. There -- he was almost warm. He grabbed his kit and headed for the bath.  
  
He emerged to find a steaming pot of tea and a bowl of hot cereal in his usual place at the table. Severus was nowhere in evidence. He didn't feel much like eating, but forced some down anyway; it was warm and soothing, even if it did make him feel a little sick to his stomach. He was just washing up and thinking about taking his broom into the shop to sit behind the till with Severus when Severus came into the kitchen with a small, stoppered bottle.  
  
"Harry, you will need to take a small sip of this potion every four hours for the next week," said Severus. "If you're judicious, this will last you the entire week. Taking more at a time will not make you better quicker. If you start taking this right away, you'll need to isolate yourself from others until Wednesday morning. Harry --" Severus paused, "I expect you understand this means you are not to come into the shop."  
  
What, no company all day? Though, Harry did see the point. The gloom settled in; he sank down into a chair.  
  
"And -- truly, I am sorry about this -- may I ask that you spend as much time as possible in your room? I'd rather avoid contracting this if at all possible..."  
  
Of all the ridiculous-- "Severus, face it -- you're doomed," said Harry, irritated. "I likely picked this up from Hermione and the kids the other day, and I promptly came back here and spent the entire evening with you. Oh, and don't forget we snogged the next day. Besides, you've been delivering potion to sick people all week. Frankly, I'm surprised you haven't come down with it already. And after last night -- well, I give you until lunch."  
  
\---------------------------   
  
Damn him for being correct.  
  
Severus hung a sign in the shop window that read "Quarantine -- dragon pox -- reopen 4 January", locked up and cast his most fiendishly difficult wards. Wondering what Harry had done about lunch, he went back to the kitchen. Not that Severus had much of an appetite. He found a pot of soup on the stove and a plate of toast next to it; it smelled of something oily and dead.  
  
"Harry?"  
  
"I'm in here," came a half-strangled reply.  
  
Severus leaned into the loo to find Harry hovering over the bowl, heaving. Dear, sweet Merlin -- "Shove over, Harry!" Severus fell to his knees and promptly lost the remains of his porridge. What a mercy he hadn't had much of an appetite that morning. When he was able to look up, he saw Harry bent over the sink, rinsing out his mouth.  
  
He closed the lid and pulled the chain, then reached for his toothbrush.  
  
"I told you--"  
  
"Don't say it."  
  
"--so."  
  
"I said, don't say it."  
  
"Too late," said Harry. "Like breakfast, it's determined to come out."  
  
"So I'm to be subjected to your verbal vomitus for the next few days, as well?"  
  
"God, I hope the sicking up part doesn't last that long."  
  
"Maybe a day or two," said Severus. "I exaggerated."  
  
"Arse."  
  
"Quite. Shove over." He spit in the sink. "I'm banishing that -- that swill out there."  
  
"Be my guest," said Harry. "Who knew you couldn't make a soup out of yesterday's roast and veg."  
  
"One can," said Severus, "but not when one is ill."  
  
"What a shame  _one_  didn't know that."  
  
"Who's an arse, then?"  
  
"Stuff it," said Harry. "I'm going back to bed."  
  
"Me, too.  _Accio_  Glaberolia."  
  
"Keep me company?"  
  
"I'll just get my book."  
  
\---------------------------   
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
"It's your bed, Harry."  
  
"Yes, but you're here, too."  
  
"Shall I leave?"  
  
"No!" said Harry. "I mean, we should have thought about bringing up a sick bowl."  
  
"Dear, sweet Merlin --  _Evanesco!_ " cast Severus. "There. Good as new."  
  
" _Accio_  glass of water and toothbrush."  
  
"Surely you are not going to do that here."  
  
"As you said," said Harry, "it's my bed."  
  
"Philistine."  
  
\---------------------------   
  
"Ugh," said Harry, "have you ever thought of installing a loo down the end of the hall?"  
  
"What, and miss all the excitement of negotiating the stairwell with a full bladder?"  
  
"And aching muscles and joints, and headache, and fever..."  
  
"Point taken," said Severus. "No."  
  
"Now who's the Philistine."  
  
"My, my. Big words."  
  
"I learned from the master," said Harry.  
  
"Hmm. I'm flattered."  
  
"Enough to put in a loo at the end of the hall?"  
  
"No," said Severus.  
  
"Well," said Harry. "I guess flattery really does get you nowhere."  
  
\---------------------------   
  
" _Accio_  number two glass ladle."  
  
"I can't believe you're going to attempt brewing up here."  
  
"It's your fault for spilling your potion."  
  
"Yes, but you've been brewing all week," said Harry. "Don't you have another bottle downstairs?"  
  
"In case it's escaped your notice," said Severus, "there's an epidemic out there."  
  
"Couldn't you just say you'd sold out?"  
  
"What, and deny myself the opportunity to complain?"  
  
"Point taken," said Harry.  
  
"I'll start taking points if you aren't quiet."  
  
"If you're going to put a brewing lab in my room," said Harry, "at least put a loo down the end of the hall."  
  
"I'm not putting in a lab," said Severus. "I'm just doing a little bedside brewing."  
  
"Bedside-- there's no such thing!" said Harry. "You just made that up."  
  
"Brilliant idea, isn't it?"  
  
"Then what about a bedside loo?" asked Harry.  
  
" _Accio_  chamber pot."  
  
" _Severus!_ "  
  
"Oh, don't fret," said Severus. "I was thinking 'cauldron' when I cast."  
  
\---------------------------   
  
"Harry, I'm sorry." Severus crossed his arms in front of him and scratched both shoulders at once.  
  
"You should be," said Harry. "Don't you know any more air freshening charms? I really, really don't want to open the window."  
  
"I've cast all the ones I know."  
  
"Ugh," said Harry. "I think I'm going to be sick."  
  
" _Accio_  sick bowl."  
  
"Yeah, now pick up your wand and say it."  
  
Harry looked highly irritated, but it could just be that he was trying to scratch an impossible spot on his back.  
  
"Forget it," said Harry. "Just cast another Smoke B Gone charm. And you missed a corner of the quilt."  
  
" _Reparo. Clario._ " cast Severus. "There."  
  
"I don't know why I expected that to do anything." Harry waved his hand through the smoke still thick in the air.  
  
"I said it once," said Severus. "I shan't say it again."  
  
"Oh, of course not!" said Harry. "Why should you? Just because you knocked over your bedside brewing stand in a fit of scratching and practically burnt down the house, doesn't mean you have to apologise more than once."  
  
"It would be superfluous."  
  
"So is all this smoke," said Harry. "You're lucky you didn't burn anything of mine. Severus, face it. We're going to have to move into your room."  
  
"No."  
  
"Why ever not?"  
  
"It's dark," said Severus.  
  
"Still living in a dungeon, are we?"  
  
"Hardly. I picked that room because it is warmer. Marginally."  
  
"If I had the energy," said Harry, "I'd sit in the kitchen wrapped in a quilt." He shivered and moved closer to Severus.  
  
"Very well." Severus got out of the bed and took up his wand. "Well? Get up, Harry. I'm not taking  _your_  bed downstairs. It's full of smoke."  
  
"Severus..."  
  
"Follow me."  
  
Severus shivered in the dark hallway. When he got to his door, he turned to look at Harry. The young man was a sight, the pox gleaming like fiery stars in the dim shadow of the hallway. "We're going to take mine." He threw a bunch of books from the bedside table onto the bed and shrank the lot. Then they made their way shivering and creaking down the stairs to the kitchen.  
  
The fire was out; Harry lit it while Severus put the bed down and enlarged it.  
  
"Whoa, warn a guy!" The corner of the bed bounced off Harry's arse as Severus levitated it into place in front of the fire. The headboard abutted the cooking counter, with just enough space between the footboard and the brewing counter to move around comfortably.  
  
"There," said Severus, "now we have light and heat, and we're close to tea and the loo and a proper brewing counter. You may have the side closest to the windows, I shall take the side by the fire." He promptly cast a warming charm on the bed and slid under the covers. Harry slid in the other side and snuggled up right behind him.  
  
"Harry, you're shaking."  
  
"So are you."  
  
"That took a bit out of me," said Severus.  
  
"Me, too," said Harry. "Nap?"  
  
"Capital idea." Severus leant back into the warm body behind him and immediately drifted off.  
  
\---------------------------   
  
"Tea?"  
  
"A small cup," said Severus. "Thank you."  
  
"This is highly convenient, the bed down here," said Harry.  
  
"I concur."  
  
"Can't you just say yes like anyone else?"  
  
"Negatory."  
  
"...'Negatory?'"  
  
"I heard it on a Muggle television program when I was a child," said Severus.  
  
"Will wonders never cease," said Harry. "You actually  _were_  a child, once?"  
  
Severus rolled his eyes.  
  
"Anyway," said Harry, "thank you."  
  
"You're welcome, Harry," said Severus, "but if you lean in on me any further I will spill my tea."  
  
"I just wanted to kiss you!" said Harry.  
  
"Then, to hell with the tea."  
  
\---------------------------   
  
When Harry woke, it was dark. He felt hungry and itchy and shaky with cold. Well, that was better than nausea as far as he was concerned. He leant over Severus and looked at his face; the tiny fires in the Dragon Pox had banked themselves to glowing coals. Harry decided not to wake him.  
  
Soup wasn't sounding horrible, now, and he was relieved to find the pot in the cold cabinet had not been banished as Severus had threatened the day before. He levitated it to the stove. " _Accio_  food ladle," he whispered, and put a Stirring Charm on it. He popped into the loo and when he returned, his soup was ready. He took the bowl back to bed. The first bite radiated heat from his stomach outward, and by the time he'd finished the bowl he was perfectly toasty in his little nest.  
  
He sailed the bowl into the sink and spelled the frog, then snuggled down behind Severus.  
  
"Don't I get any?"  
  
"Oh!" said Harry. "Did I wake you?"  
  
"Of course you did," said Severus. "You eat like a hippogriff."  
  
"You're lucky I didn't spill on you, then."  
  
"Hrmph."  
  
"May I get you a bowl?" asked Harry.  
  
"Hmm. Perhaps not just yet." Severus yawned.  
  
"Want to sleep a bit more?"  
  
"Maybe that would be for the best."  
  
"Here -- you'd better have a swig of this, first." Harry held out the remaining bottle of potion and with one hand, Severus swiftly removed the stopper, took a quick sip and replaced it.  
  
"Talented, aren't you?"  
  
"You don't know the half of it." Severus smirked.  
  
"But I will, won't I?" Harry hoped he didn't sound as anxious as he felt about it.  
  
"Count on it," said Severus, at his smokiest.  
  
Harry's pride rose and made a tent out of his pyjamas. Hell, he thought. Here he was in bed with the man, and it just wasn't going to happen. What a shame. But Severus was already drifting back to sleep, and Harry was so very warm, and tired, too...  
  
\---------------------------   
  
He woke to a dim morning sky and the clinking of glass on pewter. Peeking over the horizon of his blanket, he watched Severus ladling potion into bottles. Each small movement woke all the little itches on his skin, and he wiggled where he lay, letting the fabric of his pyjamas scratch him.  
  
"Take another dose, Harry."  
  
Harry looked around for the little bottle of potion.  
  
"It's on the counter behind you."  
  
"Thank you." Harry reached back for the bottle, took a small sip and let it trickle down. It didn't taste so bad, as potions went. "I don't suppose you've anything for itching, have you?"  
  
"Nothing that will help for the Dragon Pox themselves, unfortunately." He finished pouring, and set his ladle in the sink. "This batch is practically finished. Are you hungry?" Severus asked.  
  
Harry thought about it for a moment. "I could eat something."  
  
"Full English?"  
  
"Maybe just beans and toast."  
  
"Very well."  
  
"So, I've been thinking," said Harry, because he had, "now that I know what I'm going to be doing, I can start looking for a place to live." Harry looked over the tops of his toes at Severus, who was bent over the sink scrubbing out his cauldron. Severus didn't answer.  
  
"I know what to look for," he said. "I don't need much living space, but I'll need a workroom, with tool racks and drawers. Also, drying and storage racks for the wood, and a big work bench or table, big enough to work on more than one broom at once, with clamp stands to hold them in place. Maybe a small forge, too."  
  
Severus was really putting his back into it, now. "Where were you thinking about looking?"  
  
"Well -- that's just it. I could look pretty much anywhere, couldn't I? As long as I could get the brooms to Quality Quidditch without too much trouble." Harry sighed. "I'd love to live somewhere out in the country, maybe. Lots of fresh air."  
  
"Oh?"  
  
Harry heard glass shatter in the sink. "Severus?"  
  
"I'm fine."  
  
"But—"  
  
"My number two glass ladle is not," said Severus. " _Reparo_."  
  
"I've always liked the land around Ottery St. Catchpole; I wouldn't mind looking around there. Or maybe something on the sea." Harry sighed. "Actually, it wouldn't matter at all. I just want to be home. I want a permanent place."  
  
"Doesn't everyone want that?"  
  
Harry thought about that for a moment. "No, I don't think so. I think people feel they need to have a place, but some find it roaming. I used to want to travel, and I did travel, but it's tiring, you know? Not so much the trekking about, but the little things," he said. "Waking up in the middle of the night and having to think about where the loo is. Lack of familiar foods. New languages. That sort of thing." He scratched his neck. "Have you ever travelled?"  
  
"No. Not much," said Severus. "I went on holiday to Greece, once, when I was quite young. My father never cared much for travel, though. I don't recall going any further than the beach at Blackpool after that." He shuddered. "Not much of a vacation. It was seedy and it stank."  
  
"Where would you go?" asked Harry. "If you could take time off to travel."  
  
"It's pointless to consider," said Severus. "I shan't be going anywhere." He reached up into a cupboard and brought out a small jar.  
  
"You're having me on," said Harry. "Do you mean to say you've never once thought about it? Here," said Harry, pulling back the quilt on Severus' side of the bed.  
  
Severus climbed back in but didn't lie down. "Take off your pyjama top," he said, and gouged out a dollop of the thick salve from the jar.  
  
"What's that?" said Harry, shucking off his top.  
  
"It's a healing salve," said Severus. "It won't keep the pox from itching, but it will heal and moisturise your skin where you've scratched it half off. You've got bloody spots on your pyjamas from scratching so much."  
  
Harry snatched up the top and looked at it. "Eurgh." He cast a cleaning spell on it. It didn't do a perfect job, but it got the worst out. "Why aren't there any good spells to get blood out of things?"  
  
"Blood's got powerful magic," said Severus. "You of all people ought to know that."  
  
"More than in just a familial sense, I see."  
  
Severus finished rubbing Harry's back and arms. "Turn around."  
  
Harry faced Severus and took the rare opportunity to watch his face while he worked. He looked -- well, Harry couldn't tell. Maybe he was tired. Or preoccupied. The little line had reappeared between his brows and he had dark circles under his eyes. At the corners of his mouth a little pouch of skin sagged down, which Harry had never really noticed before. Neither had he noticed the fine, feathery lines radiating out from the corners of his eyes. Harry didn't think they came from laughing; laughing was a recent phenomenon in Severus' life, as far as he knew. Likely the culprit was pain -- years of pain, and unbearable tension, and lack of sleep.  
  
Severus' hands smoothed a slow path first over the front of his shoulders and down his arms, then ran down the front of him in the same, slow motion. Harry's body swayed with the pressure, and the brief run over his nipples caused a tendril of warmth to curl down from his chest to his cock and tease it awake.  
  
"This may work better if you lie on your back."  
  
Harry arranged himself on his pillow, and let the blankets fall careless and crumpled over his middle. Severus likely would be too tired to be interested; better Harry's arousal go unnoticed.  
  
Severus ran his hands from Harry's collar bones to his chest, and did he linger right  _there_  a bit longer than he had anywhere else? But still he moved his hands lower, and Harry found a thumb working its way into his navel; the sudden pressure there caused his cock to surge and lift the blankets an inch or two. Harry's eyes snapped to Severus'. Two hectic red spots burned high on Severus' cheeks, though the man did not stop rubbing the salve into his hipbones and the soft skin just above the waistband of his pyjamas.  
  
Then the hands left him for a moment, returning to the middle of his chest with a handful of the salve. Severus worked his way out from the middle this time, rubbing up and down Harry's sides in a slow, strong stroke. They stopped in the middle, where they had before, on that smooth pool of skin below his navel.  
  
"Harry." Severus' voice ran over him like a bow, and Harry resonated like the strings of a cello. Severus pulled the blankets and pyjamas off and down, and Harry's cock sprang free to hover under his hands.  
  
Harry looked down at himself. The fire in the pox had turned to red, licking flames that leapt off his skin and dissipated in tiny curls of black smoke. His cock blazed up tall, a picture of want, and Harry willed the hands above it to descend into that hell, to absorb it, to consume it. Nipples, cock, my God, his  _teeth_  throbbed in time with the beating of his heart, and he gasped with it -- and the man above him woke to that sound. Severus uttered a cry and his greedy hands snatched Harry's cock and stroked, stroked, smoothing the foreskin back and down, and then he toppled over onto Harry's legs with his mouth open and engulfed the flaming brand in front of him.  
  
Oh! Oh God! The wet heat of Severus' mouth concatenated with the points of fire on his cock, making him itch and soothing him at one and the same time. The tongue in that mouth ran over each flame-ravaged spot and he wasn't expecting the sharp, sweet jolt that came from each one of them, an irregular cadence of electric shocks. It was almost unbearable, tiny bolts of lightning running jagged from each point into the depths of his balls. His cock ached with need.  
  
The sudden touch of slick fingers caressing the back of his balls sent shivers skittering over Harry's skin and made his breath catch in his throat. When Severus gently pushed into the ridge behind them Harry drew two jagged breaths in quick succession and then he was coming, fountaining into the confines of Severus' mouth, each spurt forcing a grunt from deep in his chest, dying down to an extended groan as Severus settled himself beside Harry and pulled the blanket back over them both, trailing off into heavy breaths that grew even and quiet. His mind blissfully blank, Harry let himself fall into sleep.  
  
\---------------------------   
  
"Severus, are you here? Harry?" Hermione sounded irritated, and it took a moment for his sleep-addled brain to be aware that, one, the head in the fire was facing the sitting room, and two, he'd better not advertise his whereabouts because he didn't think he was quite ready to be discovered freshly shagged out in the bed with Severus. Besides, Severus was still breathing evenly; it was slightly possible he was still asleep.  
  
Of course, though, she turned around, immediately rendering Harry's reticence moot.  
  
"Severus?  _Harry?_  Why is the bed in the -- and why are you  _togeth-_  oh, erm..." She paused when Harry sat up, irritated, the flames in his pox bright orange and twitching this way and that. "Oh! You've got pox!"  
  
"Yes, obviously."  
  
"Oh, dear," said Hermione. "I shouldn't have called you out last Wednesday."  
  
"Never mind," said Harry. "I'm glad we had a chance to talk."  
  
"I see you've..." she gestured with her nose.  
  
"Yes, Mrs. Weasley, we have," said Severus, heaving up on one elbow and facing the fire. "Now, if you're finished blithering, kindly tell us what you called for so that we may continue our rest."  
  
"Sorry! Of course," she said. "I just called to see if you have another bottle of the Glaberolia -- Crispin knocked ours off the breakfast table this morning."  
  
"I did not! Jane made me," said Crispin, his head appearing in front of his mother's. "Ooh! Mummy! Uncle Harry and Mr. Snape are--"  
  
"Crispin!" said Hermione, looking completely mortified. "It is rude to interrupt! Out! Now!"  
  
"But--"  
  
"Out!" Her hand appeared and pushed the little head out of the flames.  
  
"I'm sorry!" she said, her face extremely red. "Maybe I should just--"  
  
Severus held up a hand. "I believe I can accommodate you, but would you mind turning your head for a moment while I dress?"  
  
"Oh! Yes, of course," said Hermione, faintly.  
  
Severus shrugged into his pyjamas and summoned a bottle from the fresh batch on the counter. "Here," he said, getting out of bed and thrusting it into the fire. "It's free of charge if you're gone in one secon--" Severus harrumphed. "Smart girl."  
  
He crawled back into bed and said, "Well, Harry, I believe you owe a debt to me."  
  
"I do?" Harry was confused. Not for Hermione's potion?  
  
Severus banished his pyjamas, obviously feeling much better if the state of his freshly-bared cock was any indication. "You do," he said, pointing to his erection, "and I intend to collect right now, before you move house."  
  



	10. Chapter 10

"Severus, what's got into you?" asked Harry, putting down his fork at breakfast Thursday morning. He stared across the kitchen table, looking genuinely distressed.  
  
A lifetime of mostly-justified suspicion didn't leave him much in the way of illusions, but that didn't mean he was ready to admit to Harry  _why_  he was taking the art of taciturnity to new heights. "Nothing," he answered.  
  
Harry toyed with the last bit of bacon on his plate and finally said, "The estate agent said he'd be here at eleven."  
  
"I suppose this means you'd prefer a late lunch?"  
  
"He's got six or seven housing estates to show me," said Harry, "so I likely won't make it back for lunch. See you at dinner?"  
  
"Very well." Severus sighed.   
  
Harry pointed at his plate. "You finished? I'll wash up," he said, but didn't make a move to get up.  
  
"Thank you." Severus took a sip of tea.  
  
Harry turned around in his seat and took a lingering look out of the window into the courtyard, where the branches of the pear tree and the top of the low stone wall sparkled in a fresh layer of powdery snow. He turned back and swept his gaze over the sink, the stove, the frowsty bed with the books and  _Prophets_  strewn about it. "I'm almost sorry to leave here," he said.  
  
"Almost?" Severus hoped it didn't sound as bitter as he felt.  
  
Harry gave him a long, unreadable look. "Maybe I'm very sorry."  
  
"I'm moving the bed back upstairs," said Severus. "Your room should be sufficiently aired by now." The pox were almost gone, too, from both of them; no longer flames or even glowing embers, they were small burnt-out coals, quickly turning to ash and blowing away.  
  
Severus got up from the table and collected the newspapers from the bed, putting them on the counter behind the headboard instead of the kitchen table so he wouldn't have to look at Harry. He shrank the bed and took it back upstairs to his room, enlarged it, then did something he couldn't remember ever having done: he lay down on the bed and shut his eyes.  
  
Nothing ever changed. All the good things were always snatched away.  
  
He had never figured out how to stop it from happening, for all that he had suffered so many losses. Perhaps it was a matter of control, or rather his lack of control, over so many events in his life. Only two choices in his life had made a difference, though there must have been others he had not recognised for what they were: opportunities to order his life the way he wanted instead of simply reacting to whatever befell him. But even those two choices, as conscious as they were, had come with the loss of good things.  
  
He'd never got used to losing. Each loss took a little more out of him, but this one wasn't like other losses that he had known, where the empty frame of duty stood bleak and hollow in their place. Before his eyes, his skin, his muscles, his each and every nerve were pulling, stretching, snapping. He was too brittle, too used and worn to withstand it. His soul crumpled, collapsing in upon itself, the weight too heavy a burden to bear any longer. The thestral's back can only hold so much, and even Merlin couldn't levitate the world.  
  
He didn't cry. He never did, but he spent long moments, his face buried in the musty quilt with his chest constricted and the breath pushed out of him, holding, holding, finally relaxing, allowing a ragged breath in, deep and slow.   
  
How was it that in such a short time, in the most mundane circumstances, through the flat banality of a dinner shared, through the ordinary discourse of a day with nothing more of note to lend itself to posterity than a tired, tarnished holiday and a wretched disease, just how was it he could become so very connected to someone he had once known but in such drastically different circumstances as to make him almost a stranger? Yet it had happened. How did a simple thank you come to mean so much, either giving or receiving? How was it that the advent of breakfast awakened so much more than hunger?  
  
Rarely in his life had he ever desired the company of others, yet he found himself pulled from the counter in the space between customers, just to chat or have a cup of tea, just to bask furtively in a lively animation he himself had never possessed and that he suddenly understood he longed for. Never before had he known the gravity of touch, the visceral honesty of lying together, loving, not speaking, letting the sight, the scent, the gasps of the man beside him roll over him in waves, tumbling him and weathering away all his sharp corners.  
  
Never before.  
  
And now, never again.  
  
\---------------------------   
  
It wasn't until he woke an unmeasured time later that he realised he'd fallen asleep. He felt more refreshed than he thought possible, and relaxed enough not to worry overmuch about the faint sound of fists pounding on his shop door. The room was almost dark, but then it always was; a hasty Tempus charm revealed that it was 11:20, which meant that Harry was already gone. He sighed, and went downstairs. He had better tend to business before he lost any more money.  
  
Seven irate customers and three owl orders later, he made his way back to the kitchen to put on some tea, only to find a steaming pot and a cup waiting for him on the table, along with a note.  
  
 _Dear Severus,  
  
I hope you're feeling a bit better. I'll pick up something for afters on my way home.  
  
Love, Harry_  
  
Love. Dear, sweet Merlin, he had a lot of gall. Severus sat down and poured a cup, and wondered how it happened that he couldn't be angry at Harry, how all he seemed capable of feeling was a slightly confused sense of affection and an abiding sadness. He had never felt anything like this when Lucius left him, though Severus knew all too well Lucius' reason for doing so was insurmountable. After seven years in Slytherin, it had been well beaten into him that producing an heir was the most pressing responsibility of any young, pureblood male. The only time he had felt anything similar was when his mother passed away, and even that wasn't quite the same -- there had been more of a sense of relief about her death than he thought he would ever feel about Harry's departure. Maybe --  
  
"Harry? You there?"  
  
Ron Weasley? "Potter is out, Weasley," said Severus, twisting around in his chair. "He'll be back around supper." He watched Weasley take a wary look around the kitchen before his face relaxed. Severus realised he was likely relieved not to find a bed anywhere in evidence.  
  
"He's hooked up with the housing estate bloke, then?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Did he say where he was looking? Hermione didn't --" His head turned around. "No -- I'm not calling you. I'm on with Snape. What? Yeah, okay." He turned back around. "Hermione didn't know either, but anyway, she wants to talk to you. Would you ask him to call when he gets back?"  
  
"Certainly."  
  
"Hermione -- oh, there you are," he said, as she appeared next to him in the fire. "Bye, then."  
  
"To what do I owe the pleasure, Mrs. Weasley?"  
  
"Oh, I wanted to thank you for the other day and apologise for interrupting, erm, anything." The firelight made her cheeks doubly red. "I see you've taken out the bed, then?"  
  
"Harry's room is back in order," he said. "How is your family?"  
  
"The children are much improved, thanks," she said, "but I believe I'm coming down with it, now. I've aches and a fever starting. I don't suppose I could get another bottle of potion, please? And what happened to Harry's room?"  
  
Severus found his own cheeks heating and hoped his face was in enough shadow not to show it. "A minor brewing mishap caused smoke damage. It's cleared, now." To his relief, she didn't pursue the matter.  
  
"Look," she said, "I can't let you cover the bottle from the other day. I insist you let me pay for it."  
  
"It isn't necessary, Mrs. Weasley."  
  
"Please, Snape," she said. "It's not charity, it's payment. I don't feel right not paying. Or do you not care about the wishes of your patrons?"  
  
Hrm. She had a point, and he was in no mood to argue it. "Very well. Two Galleons, fourteen and ten."  
  
"Anything off for returnables? All washed by hand, not spelled clean."  
  
"One sickle the dozen."  
  
"I'll give you a gross."  
  
Hrm. Shrewd. He gave her a small smile, and watched a shadow pull over her face.  
  
"Severus -- it's not my place," she said, "but... is anything wrong?"  
  
Severus sighed. Really, she was far too shrewd. Probably she'd already figured it out on her own, so it would boot nothing to lie. And she knew Harry, likely knew him better than any other person did. Maybe there was something she could reveal about Harry, some key, some underlying motivation. But he didn't know how to ask, or even what to ask for, so he said, "I'm sorry to see him go, is all."  
  
The words hung in the air; she gave him a long, calculated look. "Severus, may I tell you something about Harry?"  
  
" _Please_." Merlin, could that have sounded any more desperate?  
  
"I don't know what you know about Harry's home life growing up, but it wasn't good."  
  
"I knew of some of it when he came to Hogwarts, but not all, not until his sixth year."  
  
"Then you know he was brought up with practically nothing. Did you know he was never given anything new until his first Christmas at Hogwarts?"  
  
"No." He hadn't.  
  
"Did you know about the cupboard?"  
  
"Harry told me about it once. During the war." It still sickened him to think of it. And angered him to think that Dumbledore had never told him. Though, given Severus' reaction, the wily old man had made the right choice.  
  
"Well -- look at him," she said. "Despite his upbringing, Harry's always been a giving person. He's thoughtful of other people, too, when he stops to think about them. He's not selfish. He's always had a bit of a 'saving people' thing, because he cares. He didn't learn that from his family. He's just built that way."  
  
"What about it?"  
  
"Have you ever seen what happens when you give Harry something?"  
  
"Never," he said. "But then, I have never given him anything."  
  
"Yes, you have," she said. "Of course, you have. You've given him help with his broom, you've given him a place to live. You gave him invaluable assistance during the war. Severus, you've given him his life, many times over. Don't you see? What you've given, you don't see as giving. That's not how  _you're_  built. And it's likely why you never noticed what Harry does when he is given something. But Harry -- once he bothered to think about it -- most certainly saw it that way. And he still does."  
  
Severus recognised the truth in this enough not to argue, but for once in his life, he wanted an easy answer. "What does Harry do when he's given something?"  
  
"He treasures it, Severus. He treasures it, and he treasures the person who gave it to him."  
  
The thought percolated throughout the day, and by the end of the afternoon he had the beginnings of a plan, and, with the prospect of something to do, hope.  
  
\---------------------------   
  
He heard a clatter in the floo and a muffled, "Severus?"  
  
"I'm in here."  
  
Harry burst through the bead curtain at speed and careened into the counter next to him. "I found it! I found my place."  
  
Severus looked up from his ledger, determined not to let this news deter him from his plan. Or from delivering his message. "Call Ron."  
  
"Huh? Erm... yeah." But Severus' bluntness didn't stop Harry. Harry sparkled; he glowed. From two feet away, Severus could feel the heat radiating off his body. "I will, but not until I tell you about my place. It's brilliant! You should see it," said Harry. "Oh, what do I mean, of course you'll see it! It's wonderful! It's a little cottage with a garden in back, and it has a patio and an apple tree, and it's attached to a small farm, but I don't have to worry about the land because the former owner rented it to the farmer next door when he got too old to take care of it himself, and I can keep doing the same, but the best part is the barn! Severus, there's so much space in there, almost too much, and it's quite dry, so I can dry and store all the wood I'll ever need, and there's space for  _five_  workbenches, and I can move in right away, if I want!" He took a deep breath and simply beamed at Severus. "It's perfect!"  
  
Somewhere during that, Severus' throat constricted and his chest tightened, and he held his eyes resolutely open and tried desperately not to go running out into the alley and pace up and down until he cooled off. He didn't think he could hold all these conflicting feelings together. He felt like a lion-tamer, cracking the whip on his anxiety about the future, his happiness for Harry, his love and his desire for him, and the impending despair of abandonment, directing them around the ring, keeping them from eating him and destroying each other. How could he control that much power? How could he contain it?  
  
He clamped his teeth together so tightly he thought he might crack them, and when he unballed the fists he'd hidden in his robes, he was relieved to find that the hideous dents were not bleeding. He looked at Harry, concentrated on  _him_ , on his happiness and his excitement, and tried to let himself be caught up in it. He was successful enough to manage a genuine smile. "I can't wait to see it."  
  
Which was a lie, but he had a plan, and he'd just have to count on it succeeding.  
  
"I didn't sign anything, yet," said Harry. "I was so excited I figured I had better sleep on it and take another look in the day. It was the last place we looked at."  
  
The clenching around Severus' heart eased and the weight lifted somewhat -- it still wasn't too late.  
  
"Where is it located?" Severus held his breath and tried to ignore the sharp pain in his stomach.  
  
"Just south of Nottingham."  
  
The East Midlands. He could Apparate there without tiring himself out too much, if it came to that. It could have been worse. Harry could have chosen a place in the north of Scotland, or Blackpool, which would have been wretched.  
  
"It's pretty there.," said Harry. "The sun was going down -- everything glowed."  
  
Surely not as much as Harry glowed right now. "I'd love to see it one day."  
  
Something in his tone must have made Harry look up at him like that, like he was crazy, or just plain silly. "Of course, you will," he said. "Sooner rather than later, I should hope."  
  
"Of course." It was past time to redirect the subject. "What's in the bag, then?"  
  
Harry looked down at it as if he had forgotten it was in his hand. He set it on the counter. "Oh! It's a pear tart."  
  
That did sound quite fine. "What would you like for dinner?"  
  
"Dinner! Yeah, I'm starving." Harry sat down at the table in his usual spot. "How about that chicken I saw in the cold cabinet? Let's roast it with potatoes and onions."  
  
That sounded more than palatable. Severus made a mighty effort and pulled himself together. Whatever happened would happen, but for the next few hours he was going to make the most of his remaining time with Harry.  
  
"Wine?" he offered. "To celebrate?"  
  
"Severus, you're brilliant."  
  
"Of course, but that's not why I'm offering," he said. "It's simply that I've had a bottle of German elf-made white mouldering in the cupboard for ages, with nothing to celebrate." He got up from the table, gave a mighty sniff, and pulled a roaster out of the cabinet next to the stove.  
  
Harry laughed. "Then let's make this a good one."  
  
\---------------------------   
  
They did not run, or stumble up the stairs. They did not strip off in the hallway. They did not fall joined into a rumpled bed strewn with books and newspapers. Harry simply took his hand and led him, step by step, silently, to his room. Severus could do no more than honor Harry's gravity with silence; the breath caught in his throat, and he was trapped by,  _ached_  with the looming possibility of despair.  
  
He stood and trembled as his buttons let go one by one, each whisper-touch of Harry's fingers moving lower on his chest stirring arousal, hot and overwhelming, inside of him. The shirt slid off his shoulders. Harry knelt before him and reverently released the buttons of his trousers, the tie of his smalls, and drew them off first the left leg, then the right, then his stockings, left and right. And when he was done, Harry looked into his eyes with such force and feeling that he understood Harry saw more than his swelling lust and pocked skin, much more, and he had never felt as naked and exposed in his life.  
  
By some miracle of Merlin, he was not found wanting. He knew it when Harry took his hands and pulled himself up, when Harry held his gaze tenderly with his own as he removed his clothing, when Harry drew his head down, a hot hand on either cheek, to let his lips rest on Severus', let them rest, then move.  
  
Oh,  _there_  was the passion.  _There_  was the heat. Severus wrapped Harry in his arms, trying to ignore the thought that he must let go again sometime, willing himself to remember every detail of these moments together. He pulled Harry close and sucked on his lower lip, and Harry gasped into his mouth, gasped and moaned and thrust himself against Severus' thigh, as though he could meld himself to Severus by mere friction alone. Severus released his lip and thrust his tongue into the sweet honey of his mouth, hungry, tasting, feeding there as though he had never drunk of that cup, had never partaken of the feast laid out before him.  
  
Maybe he would have stayed there forever, or maybe just for hours, but Harry slid his arms down Severus' back and rested them on the slight swell of his arse, gently tugging, guiding him onto the bed and lying down on top of him. Harry put his glasses on the table and slowly lowered his head down until he was nose to nose with Severus, and enveloped Severus with his presence, and Severus was content to drown in the atmosphere of male musk and supper and sweet white wine, of wood smoke and candle wax, and intense, overpowering warmth. Again, Harry's lips met his, softly, slightly parted, but he didn't kiss this time, just breathed. In, out, in, out, cool-dry, warm-moist breath rushed past in a rhythm that made him think of thrusting in and out of the tight heat of Harry's mouth. Before he could stop it, a sob escaped from his chest and he was pushing Harry's shoulders down, guiding his head by his hair, but it wasn't necessary; Harry slid down the front of him, homed in, greedy for it, half off the bed but holding on tight to Severus' hips, diving, sucking, grunting his satisfaction through a very full mouth and throat.  
  
Severus thrust his hips up off the bed without thinking, burying his cock deep and pulling out, and it was just as he had thought: hot, cool, in, out, and he knew he wasn't going to last very long.  
  
"Wait!" he said, his voice hoarse, and he pushed Harry off of his cock and pulled him up, wrapping his arms around Harry's neck. "I'll come, I'll come," he said, between urgent kisses to Harry's ear.  
  
Harry moaned, the sound muffled in Severus' shoulders. "Please... in me... now... come in me." Harry pulled his weight up to his knees and fumbled for the vial on the table behind the headboard, opening it with a flick and pouring oil on his fingers, which he ran up and down Severus' cock, then inserted into his own arse a moment later. Harry winced and moaned again, and Severus watched Harry's cock surge with each thrust of his fingers. And then Harry was done, sinking down, down, each tiny thrust of Severus' hips forcing a needy cry from Harry's mouth.  
  
"Severus... fuck me... oh, God, fuck me!"  
  
Severus snapped his hips up so hard he lifted Harry halfway off the bed; releasing the clench, he settled back on the bed, Harry following just a moment behind, spitting himself anew on Severus' cock.  
  
"Again!" said Harry, eyes shut, his face a picture of joy and delirium.  
  
Severus thrust again.  
  
"Again!" sobbed Harry. "Again!"  
  
Dear, sweet Merlin, did Harry know how he sounded? Did he know his begging powered Severus' hips far better than any spell could do, gave him energy and strength, fed his lust until he was swimming in it, blinded by it, consumed by it?  
  
He looked at Harry's face, the eyes shut in concentration, a little line in his brow, the beads of sweat on his face, and in the corner of his eyes, a damp trickle, a sign that he was committed body and soul to loving Severus in this moment, and Severus drank it in and felt his own eyes well up, because it might be the last he was getting, the last he was  _giving_ , and it wasn't fair but he had to let the tears go in the beautiful now, had to concentrate hard to hold back his release a little more... just a little bit longer...  
  
Harry grunted and bucked above him, and without warning began to spurt.  
  
"Oh!" Harry's eyes snapped open, and he spurted again, leaving a long line of white up Severus' chest to his chin. "Oh!" It happened again, and again, each thick, white strand slapping onto Severus' chest. And then Severus was coming, too, pumping up and in, in tandem with the clenching and thrusting above him, pumping and surging through every last shudder until he was empty.  
  
Harry fell across his chest and wrapped his arms around Severus' shoulders, heaving great breaths into his neck. Wrapping his arms around Harry's waist, Severus rolled them on their sides and held on tight. Just one more moment, that was all he wanted, just one more, and another, and one more after that....  
  
Severus let himself hold on until Harry fell asleep. A long time after Harry's breathing evened out, Severus rose, found the slender volume on architectural magic he had noticed with Harry's books, and headed downstairs to get to work.


	11. Chapter 11

Harry woke alone, but wasn't startled; already the sun shone down at a jaunty angle, and, of course, Severus was well into his day by now. He heard the muted pop of someone Apparating into the Alley, a squeal, and a penitent "Sorry, miss!" Inside, he heard the kettle bumping and galloping its way to a boil.  
  
He lay abed for a little while longer, relishing the pleasant ache in his arse and the feeling of utter contentment in his soul. Maybe this is what he would miss most, waking daily in the bed he had loved in the night before. He sniffed mightily, relishing the faint scent of lavender mixed with the musty, yeasty scent of semen and the spicy odor of clean, sweaty male. It smelt sustaining and invigorating; it smelt comfortable.  
  
Today -- he had several items on his list for today. First thing this morning, he would cast the few remaining spells on his broom, and take it out for its final test. The invisibility button worked; he had tried that out while they were still camping down in the kitchen, and half the bed disappeared until Severus complained of vertigo and he turned it off. He could put the broom through its paces on the way to the farm. If it tested out fine, he would take it over to Ron and Hermione's and make good on his promise to Crispin.  
  
And then -- he didn't know. He supposed he would come back here and pack. And then?  
  
Well, he would cross that bridge when he came to it.  
  
There was no sense lazing about anymore, and anyway, he was hungry. He took his kit downstairs and had a quick wash and brush-up.  
  
When he emerged, the kettle was empty and the regular teapot gone; in front of his breakfast plate sat an ugly orange and green affair with steam drifting out the spout. Hmm. Severus rarely took tea into the shop, but maybe he was working on something that couldn't be interrupted. He made his way through the sitting room, through the beads, and got a small shock: no Severus, and the shop had not been opened at all.  
  
Where could Severus have gone? Harry began to feel uneasy; he checked every aisle before returning through the beads to the sitting room. He looked around. On the desk lay a large scroll of parchment that hadn't been there yesterday; Harry picked it up to see if it could offer any clues, but it was spelled shut. Deciding Severus must be out, he went back to the kitchen and sat down in front of his plate, and only then did he notice a small note tucked under the edge of it.  
  
 _Harry,  
  
Working this morning on a special project; shop is closed. See you this evening. Please don't sign anything without seeing me.  
  
Severus_  
  
Well, his curiosity was piqued. What kind of project could Severus have taken up so suddenly? And it must have been sudden, because he didn't know about it yet. He ate quickly and summoned his broom, casting the remaining three spells on it. He let it hover in the middle of the kitchen, humming faintly while he changed into several layers of warm clothing. Stepping out the door into the garden, he settled into the cushioning charm, pushed the invisibility button, set his heading north-north-west, and took off into the London sky.  
  
\---------------------------   
  
The farm was just as perfect in the light of day as it had been the evening before, and even more so, as once his eyes adjusted to being inside the barn, he realised he could see clear to the roof. He stayed on the broom so he could remain invisible, and took the opportunity to fly up to the rafters and check them out. They were in sound condition, and more than able to bear more load. He could hang even more drying racks from there, which would give him more space to store brooms. He flew over to the loft, which ended halfway across the room and had a rail at the edge of it. The day before, he'd only poked his head up through the ladder hole for a moment before coming back down. He tested the rail -- pretty sturdy, and thought this would make another good storage area.  
  
The hay looked particularly inviting after the long, cold flight. He flopped down in a pile and tucked his arms behind his head. If he wasn't careful, he might fall asleep; even though it was cold, he was bundled up to the teeth and there was no wind. Who knew hay could be so comfortable? He looked around him again, and took stock. He would have to add some windows, that much was certain. The barn was definitely lacking in light. It lacked something else, too, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. Maybe it was too quiet? Too spacious? He'd likely rattle around in a place this big. Actually, if he put in a loo and a kitchen and insulated the place, he could sleep here in the loft and rent the house out for income. Though, the responsibilities of a landlord did not appeal.  
  
Well, he could live in the house and rent out part of the barn, too. He really didn't need quite so much space. How many broom models did he want to have in development at one time, anyway? Even three seemed daunting, and he'd have to keep meticulous records to keep them all straight.  
  
Of course, if he were putting in a loo, he might as well plumb the place and put in stone counters and sinks. Severus would likely appreciate a place to brew if he was going to spend any time here at all.  
  
Probably, though, he wouldn't be able to spend that much time. He opened the Apothecarium at dawn and closed it just before supper. And after supper, often as not, he brought his books into the kitchen and sat across from Harry as he worked on them, while Harry worked on his broom or read. The shop stayed open every day except Sunday afternoons. It wasn't likely Severus would want to brew if he were here on his only free afternoon. Damn. It would have been nice to do something for Severus, here, to make him feel at home.  
  
Yet maybe there was something else he could do for Severus with this space. Perhaps an herb garden next spring? But that was months away, and Harry couldn't think of anything he could give Severus immediately. Well, anything besides himself. He smiled.  
  
It tickled him to know that about Severus, that he craved and enjoyed Harry's company so much. He wondered if it made Severus feel as alive and energetic and comfortable as Harry felt, being able to spar with someone who knew where his skeletons were buried. Well, most of them, anyway. Likely, Severus would miss that as much as Harry would. Of course, they'd have time together Sunday afternoons. Or whenever Harry came to town to deliver a broom. If Severus wasn't busy with customers, that was.  
  
Severus loved what he did. Harry remembered what he had said -- that shop keeping was the work he chose, and that's what made the hard work all right. Harry loved making brooms the same way, and relished the time he spent making them. He'd only discovered how much since he came back home and had all the time in the world to work at it. He already had ideas and notes for the next model. Thinking about the work made him feel just as alive and energetic as spending time with Severus did. Though, he wondered if one might not be an effect of the other, because those full days he spent on his broom were days fully spent with Severus, as well.  
  
Would his own motivations for making brooms keep him excited enough to want to continue making them? He wondered. His reasons were deeply personal, rooted in his experiences in the war. If he thought about it, his desires for the Mercury were rooted in abating a problem he would likely never face again, which was rather an exercise in closing the barn door after the horse had escaped, even if it did make him feel as though he finally had done something about the problems he had had.  
  
It was Severus who first suggested that he make a career out of broom making. It was Severus who helped him with crafting his spells, and as tedious as spell theory normally was, Severus had made it interesting, and sometimes even exciting. Working alone here wasn't going to be near as lively as working alongside Severus.  
  
And what about Severus? What a strange epiphany to realise that he'd seen the man smile more in the last 12 days than he had ever done as a student and during the war, combined. And Severus laughed! In all the time he'd known Severus, he had only heard the man laugh once: a bullying, vindictive laugh when he realised Voldemort was really, truly dead, a laugh that had turned into a brief bout of hysterical howling that Harry only realised later had been crying. But this laughing -- it was simple, unadulterated joy. Shocking, yes, and so, so welcome.  
  
He didn't want to leave that.  
  
He didn't want to leave.  
  
Abruptly, he sat up, aware suddenly that he was lying down in someone else's barn, in property that wasn't and (God, he so hoped) would never be his own. He mounted his broom and kicked off so fast he almost smashed into the rafters until he could direct the broom down and out the door.  
  
\---------------------------   
  
"Mum, please let me go now!" begged Crispin, "I don't want to wait until after lunch!"  
  
"Hermione, it's just soup," said Ron. "It'll keep. Besides, you should be resting."  
  
"Oh, very well," said Hermione. "I don't really feel like being around food much right now, anyway. Harry, can you have them back in half an hour?"  
  
"Yeah, sure!" The kids tore off to get ready.  
  
"Good! They'll be at least five minutes," said Ron. "Can I get a couple minutes on it before the kids get back?"  
  
"Ron, I am  _not_  breaking my promise to Crispin," said Harry. "But if you want, you can take him on that first ride yourself."  
  
Ron's eyes got wide. "Really? You'd let me? Whoa, Harry, you're a mate! Can I take Jane up, too, then?"  
  
"Yeah -- sure," said Harry, and really it was okay, because he'd get a few minutes to talk to Hermione alone. He watched Ron run out of the room, eager as any kid, and within a minute or two he'd left the house with the kids in tow, clutching the broom and pointing out the buttons and controls.  
  
"Help yourself to some tea, Harry," said Hermione.  
  
"Thanks! I will."  
  
"So. Snape said you'd gone looking at properties, yesterday," said Hermione, propped on the couch wrapped in a blanket. The tiny fires made a merry blaze on her face. "I didn't realise you were ready to look so soon."  
  
"Well," he said, "I know what to look for, now."  
  
"It's brooms, then, for sure?" She smiled.  
  
"Yeah," he said. "It's going to be great! I've already got lots of ideas for the next one, all I need is -- why are you looking at me like that?"  
  
"Because you have the same look on your face as you did when you got your Nimbus 2000."  
  
"Looking keen, am I?" He grinned.  
  
"More than."  
  
"I found a place," he said. "It's really good."  
  
"And?"  
  
"I went to look at it again today."  
  
"And?"  
  
"It's got lots of space," said Harry. "Almost too much. So I thought about putting in something for Severus, for when he visits." He wrapped his fingers around the cup and took a sip.  
  
"You're a bit serious about him, aren't you?" said Hermione.  
  
He met her gaze for a long moment. "Yeah. Yeah, I am." He smiled, but his eyes weren't in it this time.  
  
"Harry, what's wrong?"  
  
"He's in his shop dawn to dusk," he said. "He's only closed Sunday afternoons. When am I -- Hermione, I don't want to go. I'm never going to see him!"  
  
"Do you have to go right away?"  
  
"No. But -- I need a permanent place to work, if I'm going to make a proper job of it. And. Well, it's not like we've even talked about this -- this whatever-it-is. I couldn't stay without having to bring it up, and honestly, I'm scared to."  
  
"But Harry, why?"  
  
"Because he'll tell me I'm a fool and that I'm wasting an opportunity. He'll tell me that this is what I chose for myself, and if I didn't do it, I'd be lying to myself."  
  
"Fair enough," she said.  
  
"And Hermione, the man wouldn't even put a loo down the end of the upstairs hall. D'you actually think he'd let me transform his upstairs front into a workroom?"  
  
"Is  _that_  why I found you both in bed in the kitchen?"  
  
"Yeah. Erm, partly."  
  
"I'm guessing the fire was the other reason?"  
  
"You knew?" Harry was surprised.  
  
"Severus told me yesterday when I called for more Glaberolia."  
  
"Well, the fire was Severus' doing," said Harry, rolling his eyes. "He was brewing something and it went awry."  
  
"Do I even want to know why he was brewing something in your room?"  
  
He eyed her. "No. No, you don't."  
  
She grinned. "I see."  
  
They sipped their tea in silence for awhile.  
  
"Harry -- maybe he'd go with you?"  
  
He thought about it. "I don't think he would, Hermione," he said. "He gets threats all the time, and if he wasn't there and people knew it, his whole shop could be destroyed before there was anything he could do about it."  
  
"But -- you won't know until you ask."  
  
"You're right," he said. "I won't."  
  
"So, then?"  
  
"I don't know," said Harry. "He's given me so much, over the years. I don't know if I could ask that of him, too."  
  
"He might not see it as a burden, though," she said. "I think he'd miss you very much."  
  
"Surely not enough to risk his livelihood?"  
  
"Well, you'll never know until you--"  
  
"--Yeah," he said. "Until I ask."  
  
\---------------------------   
  
He had lots of time to think on his flight back from Ron and Hermione's. In the best of all possible worlds, he could stay with Severus and not move, sleep in Severus' room even if it was dark all the time, make his room into a work room, and (if it really  _were_  the best of all possible worlds) install a loo down the end of the hall. None of it was structurally impossible, and it wouldn't even take that much effort, really. Not as much, anyway, as building houses using the Muggle method. He could use all the architectural spells he wanted to, and it would take a couple hours at most to get it all set up.  
  
If Severus wanted it.  
  
If Severus wanted  _him_.  
  
He landed in the garden just outside the kitchen door. A hasty peek in the window told him that Severus was nowhere in evidence, which didn't surprise him. The very loud crash he heard just as he was opening the door, however, did.  
  
He ran through the kitchen, broom in tow, mindless of his snowy boots. The door to the back room was shut.  
  
The door to the back room was  _never_  shut.  
  
"Severus?" He heard another crash, then groaning timbers aloft and a loud clatter directly on the other side of the door, and then a fine rain of plaster dust drifted down over him. That sounded like the roof--  
  
"Severus!" He pounded on the door, suddenly desperate to hear him, certain that the ceiling had just caved in and he was buried under the rubble. "Severus!" He pulled his wand. "Alohom--"  
  
The door opened and Severus flew through it. He had just enough time to see that there was a great deal more light in the back room than there ought to have been.  
  
"Harry! Are you all right?" Severus grabbed his shoulders and started feeling down his arms. "Nothing fell on you, did it?"  
  
"No! Nothing fell --" Harry frowned. "Severus, what's going on? Are  _you_  okay? What happened?" He tried to look around Severus to find out why it was so light, but found himself swept into a tight embrace, instead.  
  
"Thank Merlin for that."  
  
Severus stayed wrapped around him for a long minute, and Harry, giving up, let him.  
  
"I'm fine, Severus," he said after a bit. "Really, I am. What happened?"  
  
Severus didn't answer, but held him at arm's length. Severus' eyes were wild, and he looked apprehensive. "I thought you'd be gone longer than you were. You didn't -- you didn't sign anything, did you?"  
  
"No," said Harry, confused. "You asked me not to, in your note. Why? Where were you all day?  _What happened?_  Were you attacked again?"  
  
Severus pulled him into a hug again. "Then it's not too late."  
  
Harry was thoroughly confused. "To late for  _what?_ "  
  
"For this."  
  
Severus took him by the hand and led him through the door. Harry immediately looked up and discovered where the light was coming from. The back room ceiling was no longer there. The floor of what must have been Severus' bedroom wasn't their, either, and neither was most of the roof above what used to be Severus' bedroom. Instead, there was a massive skylight with the afternoon sun slanting down through it, shining halfway down the wall. All four walls from the skylight down had racks on them to just above head height. Harry saw where the door to Severus' room must have been; it was now an empty window looking down from the upstairs hallway into the room below.  
  
Severus' desk was gone from the corner by the stairwell. In its place, a workbench ran from the stairwell opening around the corner to the beaded entryway to the shop. Another counter ran along the wall opposite the stairwell. Next to the floo lay a small forge, with all the metalworking tools he could want. The wall to the right of the kitchen doorway was now a built-in chest of drawers that went from floor to ceiling, the largest drawers at the bottom, getting smaller as they ascended. The ones near the top looked no larger than the width of his hand. Each drawer had a plate under the handle where a label could be affixed.  
  
"Mind the timbers on the floor."  
  
Harry stepped to the left, then turned to look at him. "Severus --"  
  
Severus' expression was fearful and guarded, but he took up Harry's hand. "Do you like it?"  
  
It was more than perfect and so, so much better than the best of all possible worlds.  
  
"I never dreamed...." he said. "Severus -- you're sure of this?"  
  
Severus rolled his eyes. "I'd say gutting my back room and bedroom is a great deal more committed than installing a loo down the end of the hall."  
  
Harry laughed. And then laughed some more, and more, until he couldn't stop, until tears ran down his face and he was crying in earnest.  
  
Severus pulled him close and held on tight, and let him cry himself out. "Shh. You're home. I'm with you."  
  
Harry settled down to sniffles, then asked, "Where is your bed? And your desk?  
  
"The bed is banished," said Severus. "Don't fret, it was lumpy, anyway, as you very well know. My desk is in your room. Our room. I think with the two of us, it'll be marginally warmer than the old one was. And definitely better lit." He smiled.  
  
Harry smiled back. But he still wanted to know. "Why?"  
  
"Because everything good went away, all my life," said Severus. "And I never realised until recently that I've never done enough to stop it. I couldn't let that happen with you. I just couldn't."  
  
"Severus -- I'm overwhelmed."  
  
"I just wanted to give you something to treasure."


	12. Epilogue

  
"So, what did Quality Quidditch Supplies want?" Severus asked.  
  
"Three more of the Mercury, and one Mercury II."  
  
"Didn't you just take them the II?"  
  
"He said it sold in twenty minutes."  
  
"Hrmph."  
  
"To Viktor Krum."  
  
"You're joking." Severus looked up. "Oh, you're not. He's not really taking up --"  
  
"Oh, no, no," said Harry. "But he's not got the best grip anymore, and the Mercury II has the Sit Tight spell on it, so I guess this is really going to help him get around."  
  
"I wonder if that's why your brooms sell so well."  
  
"What's why?"  
  
"You build them to accommodate all manner of rider," said Severus, "even those who can't normally use a broom."  
  
"Well, I believe it's important to be accommodating. It's a lesson you could learn from me, I think." Harry sniffed.  
  
"Oh, not that again."  
  
"Severus, I'm begging you," said Harry. " _Please_  put in a loo down the end of the hall. I almost took a header down the stairs last night."  
  
"I heard." And he had; it had scared the wits out of him, and woke him to the fact he'd been a real prig about the matter.  
  
"Will you, then?" asked Harry. "Please?"  
  
"Harry. Whilst you were at Quality Quidditch I got that little book of yours out..."  
  
"Which little book -- OH!" Harry raced up the stairs and stopped on the landing. "Severus, it's magnificent!" he exclaimed. "Ooh, and it's even got a bath, big enough for both of us! Is that  _marble?_  It is! Ooh, and the loo's got heated seats!" The toilet flushed.  
  
"Will it suit?" He called up.  
  
"Will it! It's perfect!" said Harry, clattering back down the stairs.  
  
"Nothing says I love you like a brand new loo."  
  
Harry laughed. "I love you, too."  
  
  
 **~fin~**


End file.
